


The Enemy Within

by user83278



Series: Trip the Light [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Family Feels, Family Secrets, Female Stiles Stilinski, Gen, Girl!Stiles, Messengers, Spark Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-01 02:45:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 100,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/user83278/pseuds/user83278
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was real and what was fake?</p><p>Stiles had to find her way through a maze of deception with everchanging paths and danger lurking behind each curve.</p><p>One wrong turn could make her lose control.</p><p>She had to find her way to save herself and those she held dear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oct 4th, 2012

**Author's Note:**

> I made it! Yay! The first chapter is up. I hope that you'll enjoy it and if you do, well, I'd really appreciate your kudos, comments and of course, bookmarks <3  
> It's a bit longer than I expected, but I guess it sets the tone for this story pretty nicely.

It had been a week since they had buried his brother's mortal remains.

Five days since they had moved into the new house.

Five days since the last time he had last heard his niece talk.

When they had left her old home, she had had the long-overdue mental breakdown he had been anticipating for the better part of the last eight years, ever since Claudia had passed away. His niece had always had the aggravating habit of repressing her emotional issues for the benefit of others. Well, she regarded it as more useful than aggravating, however, the people surrounding her certainly didn't. He remembered her behavior right after Claudia's death: Maksym had had his own demons to fight and had neglected the child not out of carelessness but sheer powerlessness. None of them had expected Claudia to die. That woman had been light and strength, of course, she would conquer this terrible disease. Nobody had doubted her victory. So when she had lost the war, the news had been devastating. Seemingly not for Zdzisława, though. The girl had been quiet, which was fairly unusual for her, nonetheless, she hadn't shed a tear, at least not in front of another person. The little girl's eyes had been red, her cheeks puffy and he had detected scratch marks on her hands. She had kept it together in public, but her physical appearance had spoken volumes of what she had done when alone. His brother had despaired of his wife's death, seeking solace in Mr. Jack Daniels.

Mikhail had hated to see his brother fall apart like this. The process had been particularly painful since he had known that Claudia hadn't died but that she had awakened again in Somewhere. So, although he had been aware of the fact that his sister-in-law had only transferred from this world to another, he had had to witness what her loss had caused to her husband and daughter, whom he hadn't been allowed to tell the truth. Such was the lot of the messengers.

His niece had thrown herself into helping and providing for others as much as she could to distract herself from her pain rather than dealing with it. Her social circle had shriveled as she had withdrawn herself from her wide array of social activities. Claudia had always encouraged her to partake in anything she had even considered mildly interesting to broaden her horizon. Zdzi had withered from a bright social butterfly to an outsider with a manageable amount of friends: namely one Scott McCall. Her behavior had changed for the worse as her usual energetic self had developed unusual means of hyperactivity paired with anxiety and intrusive thoughts that had scared the poor child into fits of nightmares. Eventually, she had been diagnosed with ADHD. The thought that his nine-year-old niece would have to take medication on a daily basis, maybe for the rest of her life, had nauseated him.

Of course, now that she had awoken, there was a good chance that the Powers would take care of that disorder. After all, there were some perks to being a messenger: once awoken, they were pretty much immune to all the big players like cancer, HIV, Alzheimer's and all kinds of allergies. So far, Zdzi hadn't had any Adderall for over a week and she hadn't shown signs of withdrawal...yet. After having seen the cleared out house, the floodgates had no longer been able to hold back the emotions she had been repressing for years. Most likely because she had had nothing to use as a diversion from her present situation. When she had ultimately cried herself to sleep in his arms, he had carried her into his rental car and they had driven to their current location: a beautiful, well maintained colonial style house he had mysteriously inherited a couple of months ago after the former owner, Mrs. Beverly Anne Miller, had died. It was a bit Suburgatory-ish, all the same, it was preferable to life on Wisteria Lane.

Apparently, Mr. and Mrs. Miller hadn't been blessed with children during this lifetime, however, he could clearly recall the couple. Naturally, the Powers weren't oblivious to the ways of the world. They were aware of the fact that people didn't pass their belongings on to a complete stranger. So, they had arranged for Mik and Mr. Miller to meet about ten years ago, when Mr. Miller – _Jonathan_ , Mik thought, _his name had been Jonathan_ – had been looking for a handmade fishing knife for a close friend. Mik had just become self-employed with his blacksmith's shop and somehow, _Fortuna_ had brought them together. Jonathan had been pleased with his work and throughout the next couple of years, he had ordered further goods for both himself and friends. Mik had kept in touch with the elderly couple via greeting cards for holidays and their birthdays. Then, about a year ago, Jonathan had died of old age and as the course of time had continued, Beverly had followed him. They had talked more than once about his brother and niece living in Beacon Hills and as Mrs. Miller had written so kindly in her will, _family should always be together_. So the house was now his. Of course, Mik had had his lawyer, an _old_ _friend_ , check for any legal matters he might have to face. As it had turned out however, the Powers had already taken care of everything. At the time of Mrs. Miller's death, Mik had already been aware of the severe situation in Beacon Hills due to the brutal murders and he had had an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach for the most part. They wouldn't have given him that house for no reason. With a dark foreshadowing of things to come, he had enlisted Claudia's help in furnishing and decorating the spacious rooms. She had also felt a _tingling_ as she had called it.

His shop back in Florida was closed for now, the website clearly stating that business was shut down until further notice due to a tragic occurrence within the family. He hadn't started looking for a new location in Beacon Hills, yet, since the _death_ of his brother had most certainly summoned a bureaucratic nightmare. Death certificate, insurances, gas, electricity, water, subscriptions, cable TV, phone contracts, administration of estates...the list went on. Mik was lucky enough that Maksym had put together a binder with every document he might possibly need, still, it didn't spare him the seemingly endless hours going to and from the post office, making calls and having his patience constantly tested by ignorant desk drones.

He would never leave the house longer than absolutely necessary, though, not while Zdzi was, well, _in her current state_.

Since they had arrived at the house, his niece had not left her new room. He highly doubted that she had even left her bed. Several times per day, he would bring her a bottle of water and something to eat. His culinary skills might not gain him any Michelin stars, but as a proud bachelor, he was able to make some pretty decent sandwiches. Unfortunately, his niece was in no mood to appreciate his efforts. She barely ate anything. Still, he would prepare meals for her, knowing that she would come around at one point.

Adonis hardly left her side, content to comfort the girl with his presence. Also, he was allowed to lie on her bed and, ever the opportunist, he wouldn't pass up a chance at a treat like that. Evidently, he would leave the bed so they could go for a quick walk, to get some water or some food, but as soon as he was done, the Doberman would immediately return to Zdzisława's room. They had always enjoyed being around each other, whenever his niece came to visit. Adonis was a sucker for attention and with the teenage girl, he could literally bathe in cuddles and praises. She just couldn't say “no” to his big rust-brown puppy eyes. Although, given the fact that they would now be living together permanently, they should probably have a talk about proper discipline towards the dog. Perhaps his niece had already learned about pack dynamics and alpha behavior since most people she was close with were werewolves.

_Yes,_ Mik scratched his chin, _we'll definitely have a talk. Once she's less apathetic that is._

Since she lacked any way of distracting herself, Zdzisława had nothing else to focus on than herself and so far, she had used the time to actually mourn for the first time since her mother had left them. Mourning her childhood, mourning her lost friends, mourning her parents who were no longer permitted to see her. She hadn't even gotten a chance to say a proper goodbye. Mik was fine with all of that. He knew that she needed this now in order for her to heal. The healing process had already started by her no longer repressing her own feelings. That was definitely a plus, however, they were merely at the beginning. If, right now, anything or anyone was to disturb her with their own problems, something to do, anything that might hold the slightest chance of diversion, she would most likely launch herself right into it and any progress she had made as of now would be forgotten at once.

Again, Mikhail sent a silent “thank you” to his sister-in-law, since her expertise in distracting others still proved to be strong even though she and Maksym had left about a week ago. He preferred being left alone, nonetheless, he was well aware that Claudia's magic would not last much longer. Soon, people would start asking questions again. Zdzi's friends would eventually make the time to inquire about her well-being. The local TV stations would probably demand an interview. The thought of Agent McCall made his blood boil. Hopefully, they could at least avoid that pest a little while longer. Although, despite all the privacy they were given, there had been one particular duty that had to be taken care of: high school. As Zdzisława's legal guardian – and _that_ would take some time to get used to – Mik was now in charge of her upbringing and that included the topic of education. By now, he had called the school to inform them about her temporary absence and had asked them to please send him her schedule and all of her assignments via e-mail. She might not be able to return to school, yet, he had reasoned that once she had recovered enough to actually get bored by staying at home, she would certainly appreciate the work so that she wouldn't fall behind. He had also informed himself about available AP classes for his niece according to her grades, but apparently he would have to appear in person to rearrange her schedule, so that would not happen for now.

The kid was highly intelligent, the only reason she had refused to be placed in advanced classes was because she hadn't wanted to be separated from her best friend. Her only AP class was currently English Language and Composition and he remembered Maksym having mentioned that she had fought tooth and nail not to be placed in it. This girl had some serious codependency issues. Even before he had left his old home to come to Beacon Hills, he had briefed a fellow messenger who was working as a therapist on his niece. Whenever a minor awoke, having a therapist near was a true blessing. In Mikhail's case, a therapist was an absolute necessity to get Zdzi anywhere near a normal human being. She needed to heal and while Mik had performed his fair share of tasks for the Powers in the past, he was no miracle worker, not like that at least.

Searching the Internet for any decent pet stores in the area around Beacon Hills, he noticed that his sister had just gone online. Mik checked his Skype and spontaneously decided to call her.

\---------------------------------------------

At first, there had been nothing but agonizing pain. It had constantly clawed at her during every waking moment. It had caused her to curl up in her bed, to hide under the covers and to bury her head under her pillow in order to just shut it out. There had been no escaping, though. It had kept attacking her, stabbing her core, tearing at her soul, ripping her apart. She had been paralyzed by the sheer impact of conflicting emotions, her only way of relief had been the ability to cry. Stiles hadn't cried in a long time. Not like that at least. Never like that actually, when she gave it proper thought. She had learnt to stifle her tears after her mother had left them. The pain back then had overwhelmed her, yet, since she had blamed herself for her mother's demise, she hadn't allowed herself to give in to the urge to weep. She might have caught herself shedding a few tears in the middle of the night after a bad dream, nonetheless, she had suppressed them almost immediately. Stiles had never felt like she deserved to mourn those lost because of her having failed. She had failed in saving her mother. She had failed in protecting Heather and Erica. Boyd was dead, too, as were so many others. Just because she hadn't been able to solve the mystery faster, because she hadn't been smarter, stronger.

Stiles closed her eyes and swallowed. It hurt. It hurt so much. Knowing that she hadn't been good enough, knowing that she had let them down. Knowing that she was no Batman, but only Stiles Stilinski, a stupid hyperactive kid who didn't know when to shut up. Who didn't know shit about the world, apparently, as everything around her had crumbled into nothingness. Over the past eight years, Stiles had violently drilled her brain to extinguish any _uncomfortable_ ways of thinking. For once, her brain had ruled in her favor and she had never had any trouble distracting herself whenever dismal thoughts had started to whisper dark truths into her ears. This time, though, this time it had been too much for her brain to take in and it had betrayed her. It had betrayed her often in the past by having sent ideas and stray thoughts straight to her mouth. She had never had a brain-to-mouth filter, something she had gotten used to over time. Something she had loathed more than once.

She had slipped in and out of sleep, suffering anew every time she woke, her mind empty, her heart heavy to the point of breaking. Eventually, against her expectations, the excruciating pain had stopped and turned into a steady dull throbbing, at least for a short amount of time. She had been able to be awake without feeling the urge to cry and cower beneath her sheets. She had also started noticing little things about her current environment. The bed was bigger than her old one. Thinking about her old bed had caused her to tear up again. The walls were void of any decoration. Thinking about decorated walls had made her remember the cleared out living room and she had quickly pulled the covers over her head to shut this memory out. Her thoughts had always found a way to circle back to something from _before_ and she hadn't wanted to think of _before_ anymore. She had felt exhausted, both physically and emotionally. She had just wanted to be left alone.

Slowly, the agonizing pain/dull throbbing ratio had tipped in favor of the latter. Although every now and then, it had still spiked into a stabbing sensation, bringing tears to her eyes again, when a stray thought had caught her off-guard.

Since arriving at this place, she had hardly left the bed, the only reason for leaving the warmth and safety of the covers had been the seldom occurrence of her having to use the bathroom. The en suite bathroom with a bathtub Stiles had refused to look at. She had cried after having seen it for the first time. She wouldn't take a bath anytime soon, not if she had a choice in the matter. Luckily, she had scarcely needed to get up to relieve herself, given the fact that she had reduced her intake of food and fluids to a minimum. Her uncle would come into her room several times a day to leave her sandwiches and fruit along with something to drink on her new desk. He had never spoken to her, not once, as though he hadn't wanted to interrupt her mourning.

_Mourning_ , Stiles had pondered this idea, _is this mourning? Questioning everything? Being incapable of doing anything because your mind won't quit spinning around in circles? Feeling stupid and useless? Not being able to control your freaking emotions and allowing them to turn you into some worthless parasite that only cares about their own shit?!_

So far, her uncle had been a saint for putting up with her like it was nothing. Adonis hadn't gotten annoyed with her state of uselessness, either. The Doberman had taken to lying next to her, never abandoning his position longer than necessary. If Stiles ever became a functioning person again, Adonis would possibly be drowned in cuddles and kisses since he was the greatest dog ever. Whenever the guys had come back from a walk, he had returned instantly to her side. He might have left throughout the day to drink a little and of course, he had needed to eat, yet, he had seemed content to just be in her presence. He had kept his distance, though. He had lied close to her, however, he had been careful not to be _too_ close. He had never initiated any kind of touching or petting. He had just been there, probably waiting for her to acknowledge him. Adonis loved that kind of positive attention as he was very oriented towards the people he considered family.

The time intervals between the outbursts had elongated and eventually, from one moment to another, the throbbing had ceased entirely and had been replaced by...nothing. Nothing at all. No feeling, no pain, no more tears.

Nada, zero, zilch.

She hadn't trusted this.

Not one bit.

\---------------------------------------------

She heard her uncle calling Adonis. The bed dipped slightly when the dog stepped off the mattress. His claws were making _click click click_ noises on the floor as soon as he had left the room. A few moments later, she could hear a door falling shut. She was now alone in this strange new place.

The lights were off. They had been off as far as she remembered. The window was closed, as were the linen blinds that would still allow some natural light to permeate into the room. Time didn't matter to her at this point. Stiles turned around. While tugging her hands under her pillow, her nose caught a whiff of something. She inhaled carefully to determine what it was and where it came from...only to discover that she was the source of the odor. Stiles raised an arm above her head and she didn't even have to bend her head to smell the stench that originated from her armpit.

_Urgh!_ She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

When was the last time she had actually done something akin to washing herself? The days had kind of blurred into one as her emotions had left her almost entirely incapable of fulfilling ordinary human needs such as hygiene. She ran a hand through her short hair, careful not to lift her arm more than absolutely necessary. Stiles frowned at the strange feeling beneath her fingertips and groaned in annoyance. Her hair was greasy. Really greasy. As in _I can hardly run my hand through it_ -greasy. She was pretty sure that her body had somehow managed to create its very own pomade.

_Gross!_

She reeked and her hair was gross and given the facts that she 1) had hardly left the bed so far, 2) hadn't changed her clothes for however long she had been lying in bed, 3) hadn't bothered to air out the room once and 4) hadn't bothered to air out the bedclothes, either...well, she was most likely surrounded in a highly repellent mass of her own filth and stink.

_Freaking perfect! Adonis is so getting an award for putting up with this. Preferably something edible._

Stiles sat up, the simple movement costing her more energy than it should. Her back muscles felt tender bordering on sore. The girl slowly pushed back her covers and the comforter, leaving her legs bare. She shivered when the heat of the sheets was removed, yet, when a gust of newly released air hit her nose, she nearly gagged. She would have to shower, no arguing there.

Her legs wobbled slightly as she rose from the bed. Stiles made a face the moment she stepped on one of the many used tissues littering her floor. She had forgotten all about them. When her crying had abated, she had no longer needed as many tissues. In the beginning of this process, she had used up at least one Redwood tree worth of them. Regarding the mess of white on the floor, it was obvious that while her uncle would provide for her with silent support, he was not going to be her maid. The carpet was soft against the soles of her feet, a harsh contrast against the cold tiles in the bathroom. Of course, she hadn't bothered to heat the small rectangular room before.

_Oh well,_ she shrugged off her shirt, threw it aside and kicked her panties into the same general direction. The shower screen opened smoothly without a sound.

_Time to get clean. God, it's cold!_

When the first droplets of water touched her skin, Stiles shuddered involuntarily at the sensation. She knew that showering was meant as an act of cleaning the body, caring for it, nurturing it with water, still, she felt as though the water went deeper than usual. The pressure seemed stronger, harder, more aggressive, almost to the point of being painful. Stiles merely allowed the cascades of water to wash over her, standing motionlessly in the stall while condensation started to form a fine mist around her. Soon, the screens were steamed up and once again, Stiles had created a hideout from the world. She leaned her head back slightly, inhaling the warm air around her. Deep and steady breaths.

After a while, she noticed how her backside got chilly since she had her front turned towards the jet. Turning around slowly, she shuddered once more when the warm stream hit her lower back. Stiles folded her arms in front of her chest due to the built up heat seemingly leaving her immediately. She shifted again, adjusting her position in such a way that the water would spread over her body evenly. She didn't want to be engulfed in cold water ever again. No Sir. No Ma'am. No-oh. Not happening.

_Never again_ , she bit her lower lip, looking around for shampoo and showering gel. She had decided to do something against her awful stench after all.

Oxana had packed her bathroom stuff, having sniffed her nose at the scentless, pH-adjusted products. Stiles had sensitive skin, so the pH-adjustment was reasonable enough, nonetheless, according to her cousin, a person was supposed to envelope themselves in scents they found pleasant. Stiles' sheer lack of scented products – even her deodorant wasn't perfumed – had simply confused her cousin, particularly since Stiles had always had a tendency towards almost sickeningly sweet fragrances like cotton candy, bubblegum, vanilla and anything remotely resembling chocolate. That had changed over the course of the last year. More specifically, it had changed shortly after Scott had been bitten. He had claimed that the _chemicals_ would have irritated his nose. Not like he had ever complained to Allison about her care-products. No, Allison's scent had always been _so fresh and clean, but also delicate, rich, sometimes spicy_. By God, Scott had had it _bad_!

Stiles bent her head forwards to wet her hair. The simple act of stretching her neck muscles like that caused a strain down her entire back. Lying in bed doing nothing but stinking the place up hadn't served her constitution in any way. Angrily, she grabbed a bottle of shampoo, flicked the lid open and applied it straight onto her head. Her fingers worked their way harshly through the inch-long hair, the nails scratching her scalp. She hadn't shortened them for some time, seeing as they were brittle and had a tendency to break easily. Well, either that or Stiles would tear them off as a nervous habit. Long nails were only a hindrance anyway. She didn't need her nails to be long and pretty and french or covered with nice polish.

When she removed her hands from her head, she was breathing heavily, heaving gushes of air into her lungs. Her eyes began to sting again from tears. Stiles put the bottle back on the rounded corner shelf and reached for the showering gel. Her skin felt strange beneath her touch, rougher on the one hand, more sensitive on the other. She sped up the movements of her hands to spread the gel faster. She just wanted to get clean. Her nails left angry red marks all over her body.

Finally, she allowed the steaming jet of water to wash over her again, washing away the shampoo and the foamy gel, cleansing her body. For the longest time, Stiles just stood there, unmoving. She had attached the shower head to the wall panel and just stared at the drain swallowing foam and water.

_What happened to me?_ The thought had crossed her mind a lot lately. She had so far not found an adequate answer. She didn't even know where to begin or when to begin. Somehow, her life had taken a turn but she was indecisive whether it had been wrong or right. She was only a kid after all, what did she knew about life?

Well, she knew that she would have to get out of the shower before her fingers would get even wrinklier. The lack of hydration had obviously dried her skin out, so that it now soaked itself full with as much liquid as possible. Stiles turned the water off and opened the screen. The entire room was a bit foggy, however, the mist cleared out quickly after she had opened the milk glass window a crack. Fortunately, alongside several large fluffy teal colored towels were also a couple of microfiber ones which Stiles like to use for her hair since they tended to absorb a lot of leftover water. Her hair was longer now but that was merely a consequence of her _forgetting_ to trim it back, since these past couple of months, there had been more pressing issues than getting a haircut. Hell, she didn't remember having enough hair to actually get something even remotely considered a haircut. So, naturally, she didn't own a blow-drier, something cousin Oxana had not been too pleased about. Aunt Jelena had also mentioned that she should consider investing in one, since it would offer her more possibilities for styling her hair.

_Hairstyling?_ Stiles snorted as she rubbed the towel over her head. _I didn't even have hair until a few months ago. How would I know anything about styling something that's not been there for as long as I can remember? Hell, my make-up kit consists of an expired concealer and some powder that, according to my beloved aunt and cousin, don't even match my skin-tone. Seriously, what do they expect from me? Just like everybody else! But you're a girl, you should know these things! Don't you want to look pretty? You are a girl, right? Well, as a girl, you should be more polished. You could look so pretty, if only you........In what kind of sexist world are we living?! I'm not girly, I'm not some stupid make-up Barbie doll, there are more important things in live than smearing stuff all over your face, wearing push-up bras and heels!_

She hurled the towel in her hands to the floor and grabbed the rim of the sink.

_In and out_ , she told herself _, in and out. Just breathe. In and out. That's it._

Her arms were shaking with tension when she took one of the larger towels of its hook to wrap it tightly around herself. She had showered, she was clean, no need to freak out.As she stepped through the connecting door, another wave of cold stale air hit her. The fluffy towel hardly offered any protection. Stiles made quick work of ripping open one of the boxes labeled _clothes_ to get into something remotely warmer. Still frustrated for no apparent reason, she just decided to empty the box's contents all over the floor instead of rummaging through it. She was freezing and she couldn't care less.

A pile consisting of t-shirts, socks and underwear joined the already existing mess of used tissues. Stiles kicked at the items, yet, since she didn't spot anything she might want to wear at the moment, she went for the other two boxes also declared _clothes._ How much crap did she own anyway? And none of it was useful! Groaning in frustration, Stiles grabbed some mismatched pieces of underwear, a pair of old sweatpants, an oversized shirt and a couple of fuzzy cozy socks. She flung the towel into the nearest corner, not even bothering to see where it landed as she was busy covering herself up. The clothes smelled definitely better than whatever she had discarded back in the bathroom. Not reeking was a good thing, it made her feel...not really much better, but at least not worse, so that was something in her book.

There was still a slightly moldy hint in the air, so Stiles would have to open the window.

_Just a little bit_ , she told herself, _wouldn't want any furreal friends to climb in, now do we?_

She fought back a snort while working out how to open up the blinds. There was a cord attached to the roller, so with a few swift tugs, the blinds lifted to reveal a large double window with muntins separating the casement into rectangular lites. It was dark outside. The girl grabbed the window handle to her left, turned it towards her and pulled...and pulled...and pulled...and started to feel pretty stupid because the pane just wouldn't budge.

_Why won't you open?!_ She fumed inwardly. Opening windows was supposed to be easy, so why in...

_Oh!_ Stiles smacked her hand loudly against her forehead. _I'm such an idiot! This is not even funny!_

Naturally, in her quest to air out the room, she had missed the tiny latches on the inside of the casement. Snapping them into an unlocked position, she was finally able to open the pane by sliding it sideways. Immediately, a strong icy draft swept through her room, pushing the doors left ajar shut. Stiles slid the window a bit back and forth until the opening was about a hand wide before she used the latches to lock it in place. Even though the fresh air was chilly, it felt good. It felt clean.

She moved over to her bed and while doing so, she took the time to look around the room. Her room. Her new room. Because they had moved. Moved into a new house...little pieces of information where steadily connecting in her head.

The room was a nice size. More squarish than longish, rather spacious in comparison to her old... _let's not go there now_. There was one door to her right, leading into the hallway, one door across from her, leading into the bathroom. Wall-to-wall carpet in a light charcoal color. A large bed – way bigger than what she was used to. A desk. A chair. White walls, White ceiling. A ceiling lamp at its center. There was _something_ inside of her, when she noticed that she was now basically living in an IKEA catalog, a feeling that she couldn't quite discern, however, it was gone the moment she acknowledged it.

There was also a mirrored sliding door to her left in the far corner of the room. Did she have a closet now? There was no wardrobe in here, so this had to be it, right? She would check sometime later, now, Stiles needed to change her bedsheets.

\---------------------------------------------

Mik opened the front door, stepped inside and shrugged off his jacket. He hadn't really meant for them to stay out so long, but for some reason, they had met the elderly couple from next door and their dogs at the nearby park and small talk had turned into long talk and the two little Pomeranian ladies had kept Adonis busy playing tag. He locked the door and kicked off his shoes. Adonis was sitting patiently by the coat rack, waiting for him to remove his collar. Mik had already taken off his leash when they had reached the house.

“Come here”, he smiled at the dog, leaned down as the Doberman approached him and made quick work of the leather collar. Adonis would always wear a fine silver chain with his tags attached to it, nonetheless, Mik preferred a more durable collar for walks. He knew that his dog was well-behaved, he had raised him after all, yet, the element of surprise would remain and he would never forgive himself, if anything were to happen to his dog just because he was too overconfident in his upbringing. The chain was a bit more on the _decorative side_ than practical. It wouldn't last if all of Adonis' eighty pounds suddenly decided to dash away. His dog was bigger than the average Doberman and his weight, well, they went for a run each morning, they went on walks, Adonis had to work for his food which Mik was very stern about. He had adjusted the dog's diet as agreed with their veterinarian. He was by no means overweight, however, he was _big_ and _strong_ and there was nothing wrong with that. He was the perfect dog.

As soon as the collar was put aside, Adonis went to get a drink. The sound of his tongue hitting the water in his bowl reminded Mik of some nice chilled beer in the fridge. It was Thursday, so he would probably settle down for _The Big Bang_ and then go to bed. He would have to make a few calls in the morning about some reconstruction work on his brother's old house before they would be able to put it up for sale. He had just fished a bag of chips out of a cupboard – BBQ flavored, his favorite – and was about to enter the living area, when he heard Adonis whining from the upstairs landing. He put his refreshments on the coffee table and ascended the stairs carefully. Why would the dog whine like that?

\---------------------------------------------

The sound of claws clicking on hardwood floor caught her attention. Stiles had just finished changing her sheets and she had done so without throwing up. Quite the accomplishment since they had reeked. _Bad_. Although a larger bed seemed like a blessing, it was more of a curse in regard of the amount of bedsheets it required. She also had a comforter now. Adonis loved to snuggle beneath it and to get all tangled up in search for the right lounging position. She hadn't bothered to figure out where the hamper was. Instead, Stiles had introduced her smelly bedsheets to her unsanitary old tissues and the piles of clothes still left over from dumping packing cases earlier. There was somebody sniffing in front of her closed door and eventually, she heard a low whine.

Stiles sighed. She had half the mind to let Adonis stay where he was: outside. At the same time, she felt bad for not letting him in. He hadn't done anything to her, he just wanted to make sure that she was okay. All of the sudden, pinpricks were in her eyes as she started to tear up again.

\---------------------------------------------

Mik had reached the top of the stairs and looking down the hallway, he saw why Adonis was so irritated. His niece had obviously closed the door to her room while they had been gone. That was...unexpected, but it also meant that she had probably left her bed for more than just a bathroom run. That was a good thing, a very good thing. Hopefully. Adonis didn't seem to share his opinion, though, as he kept making tiny whimpers in the back of his throat. The man smiled sympathetically and was about to call the dog, when...

\---------------------------------------------

So she opted for opening the damn door. Adonis didn't deserve being excluded like that and if Stiles was honest with herself for once, she liked the comfort of his presence. It didn't make her feel so alone. Once the door was open, the dog just about jumped into the room, looking around, checking if everything was still in order.

“Hey”, Stiles greeted him calmly with a croaked voice. Her throat hurt. “How was your walk? Did you have a good time?” Talking to Adonis had always been easy. He merely _smiled_ at her (his muzzle open with his tongue lolling out to one side) with undivided attention.

She sat down on the floor, her back resting against the bed. When she opened her arms in a welcoming way, the Doberman trotted towards her and lied down right next to her, his head on her lap. Stiles began to caress the back of Adonis' head.

“So, how have you been lately? Moving here must've been a pretty big deal, right? Have you made any friends, yet?.....” She continued to mumble sweet nonsense under her breath, unaware of her uncle walking silently back into the living area with a wide smile on his face.

_This is progress_ , he thought, _this is good._


	2. Oct 5th, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead just floating...okay, I'm lazy. Sorry that this update took so long. Please don't be mad and stick around. Thank you <3  
> Also, what happend to copy&paste from word? This Rich Text formatting is horrible!

Keeping her room clean had never been on the top of Stiles’ things that you’re responsible for list. The list had consisted of more important matters such as _make sure that Dad eats healthy_ , _grocery_ _shopping_ , _take care of the household_ , _stay alive while fighting supernatural creatures_ , _watch out for your friends_. Stiles had pretty much taken over the role of the homemaker after her mother’s death and she had tried to fulfill it to the best of her abilities. Of course, at eight years old, she had not been up to par with her mother’s standards, but over the course of the following eight years, she had gotten rather close to perfect the duties that came with caring for the Stilinski household. The girl had been aware that her father’s income was not unlimited and since she lacked in the job department - not counting the summers when she helped out at the station with filing, coffee making and copying - Stiles had decided to pull her weight by taking care of the household necessities.

Naturally, her drive to make herself useful wasn’t just a fluke. After the guilt that she had felt over her mother’s departure, she had thrown herself into any aspect of life that she might be able to control. Her ADHD wasn’t helpful but manageable with the right amount of medication and while she could admit that her need to be constructive was bordering slightly on OCD, nobody had ever truly complained about it. Yes, her dad had been annoyed with her dietary plans for him - although those had been in total agreement with his physician - still, this aspect of their life had become more of banter between them. He would protest the food she got him, she would tell him that he should stick to his diet because of health risks and eventually, he would sigh and give her a look that said “I am annoyed with you but I’m also kind of proud because I know that other kids don’t care for their parents like you do for me”.

That had been her life.

Always putting others first.

Just like Dad had taught her.

_We live to protect and to serve the people._

As a result, Stiles had not necessarily neglected herself, yet…things like cleaning her room had been of secondary importance, maybe even third-rate. Oh, who was she kidding, she could have cared less about her room as long as she knew the general direction of where things ought to be. The only people who ever entered her room anyway were her dad and Scott and her dad had been pretty cool about the status of her room as long as it didn’t look like an episode of _Hoarders_. Derek would insult her lack of cleanliness - _the dick_ \- however he hadn’t been in her friend zone back then, so she hadn’t really cared for his opinion. She hadn’t owed him an explanation as to why she didn’t have the energy to tidy up her room, when she had been busy with school, her dad, the house, hunters, kanimas and werewolves.

Even though Stiles did not keep her room neat, she was definitely not unaware of the importance of order. Particularly given the fact that her attention span was below average, she knew that an organized storage system could actually help reducing distraction, nonetheless, establishing such a system was rather strenuous and there had always been something else to… 

Stiles sighed.

Her initial state of uselessness was over. Well, she told herself that it was over an in order to prove herself that it was over, this midday, she had gotten out of bed, showered, brushed her teeth, dressed and decided to clean up the mess on her floor. According to the really cool new wake-up light on her headboard with integrated storage room, she had made that decision over an hour ago. Ever since then, she had slid to the floor, her back resting against her bed and stared holes into the floor…the part of the floor that wasn’t covered in used tissues and clothes. It wasn’t that Stiles didn’t know what to do - putting the clothes back into the boxes wasn’t all that difficult a task - yet for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to just begin. So instead, she sat on the floor. Adonis lay by her side, chewing audibly on his Nylabone. He probably considered her a helpless mess that needed constant care. Great, even the dog knew that she was good for nothing.

Stiles had to swallow against the lump in her throat, the pinpricks in her eyes an evident proof that, perhaps, she had lost her awesome ability of faking it. 

+++++++++++++++++++ 

Mik was at the kitchen counter, checking out several e-mails from his estate agent. He planned on moving his shop to Beacon Hills still this year in order to reopen on January 1st next year. New Year seemed like a good day to reopen and the relocation gave him the opportunity to finally enlarge his work space. His shop in Florida hadn’t been bursting at its seams; nevertheless, the thought of a little more room and setting it up properly filled him with glee. Oh, the possibilities!

He was in a rather good mood today, probably because of his niece’s recent development. Not only had she left her bed and showered, no, she had talked a little and also eaten a bit more than over the past days combined. The child - _teenager_ , he corrected himself - was way too thin for his liking; the stress of the past months was painfully obvious in her physique. He had already considered making an appointment with either a physician or a nutritionist, but he felt that he should respect Zdzi’s opinion on that topic. She wasn’t a child anymore and should be allowed to speak for herself. If all else failed, he could always use a subtle mind suggestion. That might be playing dirty and he would not be proud of himself, but he was responsible for the girl now and both Claudia and Maksym would skin him alive for neglecting her health issues. His mother, his sister and her daughter were also constantly inquiring about Zdzisława’s condition. Mikhail refused to think of himself as an imbecile; however the Stilinski women certainly knew how to make him feel like one.

_Watch out for her eating healthy and no junk food._

_Make sure she’s drinking plenty._

_Stock up on tampons, but the right ones that’s very important._

_Is she sleeping alright?_

_She’s delicate right now, be sensitive around her but don’t be overbearing._

_How stupid did they think he was?!_

The doorbell brought him out of his reverie. He closed his laptop and made his way down the stairs into the basement.

Once he had slid a storage rack to the right it revealed a door that had been built into the wall. He pulled the knob towards him and was greeted with the sight of Will Meyers, Psy. D.

“I didn’t expect you for a few more days,” Mik greeted the other man with a handshake before stepping aside to allow him access to the basement and his house.

“I had a feeling that the time was right.” Meyers closed the door behind him, watching as Mik slid the rack back into place.

“Well, then, she’s upstairs in her room,” Will followed him up the stairs to the first floor, “she’s been up for some time now, asked me for a garbage bag a little while ago. Heads up, Adonis is with her and he won’t like it if you upset her, so if you need me to remove him, just say so.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Will chuckled despite the uncomfortable image of the Doberman going for his throat, “I don’t plan on upsetting her, though. Today is just about getting to know her and her situation. No distressing questions. I’ll leave that up for later.”

They arrived on the second floor and walked towards Stiles’ room. Her uncle knocked before pushing the door open.

“Hey, kid.” He greeted her with a smile, immediately noticing her reddened eyes and the unfortunately still littered floor. Her attempt at cleaning had obviously been fruitless so far.

“There’s somebody here, I’d like you to meet him.”

The therapist stepped into the room. While the dog scrutinized him carefully, a fact that he tried to ignore, the man focused on the teenage girl instead. He had already gotten a brief description of her back-story but to actually meet the girl that ran with wolves and that had to die twice within a day was an entirely different situation.

“This is Will Meyers. He’s a therapist.”

“Psychologist,” Meyers corrected automatically.

“Same difference,” Mik countered, causing the ghost of a smile to hush over his niece’s features.

Adonis looked still wary of the newcomer. When Will moved closer towards the girl, Adonis visibly tensed and let out a warning growl.

“No.” The stern sound of Zdzi’s voice surprised both him and the Doberman. “We don’t growl at people, it’s not nice.”

Adonis was noticeably taken aback, yet, he followed the command most likely out of sheer perplexity.

“Hi.” She sniffled lightly as the doctor took a few steps across the room to sit down on her desk chair. “I’m Stiles.”

“Oh, I thought that…”

“Yeah, but no one can pronounce that anyway.” She noticed the look her uncle gave her. “Unless they’re familiar with Eastern European languages. Doesn’t happen too often in Beacon Hills, though.”

“Okay, I’ll leave you guys to it then,” Mik turned to exit the room and then he halted for a moment, focusing on his dog, “behave.”

“So,” Meyers opened a beaten leather notebook, “your uncle already told me a little about you, but to be honest, I got lost somewhere between the words _Kanima, Darach and Alpha Pack_.”

Stiles smiled sadly at that - she was at a mental crossroad.

After her mother had died, her father had made her see a therapist and she had hated every single moment of it. She had hated the questions, the inquiring, the stupid office and especially the couch that had made squeaky noises whenever she had moved. By the time that it became obvious that the sessions had been getting her nowhere, her dad had made her stop going. Mainly because she had cried and told him that she hadn’t wanted to talk about Mom because it had hurt too much, so he hadn’t forced her to go anymore. He hadn’t been in therapy either…well, he hadn’t been in therapy with a professional doctor. He had conducted himself to late night sessions with Mr. Jack Daniels.

To each his own poison.

But was Stiles ready to talk now? She petted Adonis absentmindedly. It would be nice, sure, especially because this doctor wouldn’t send her straight to the nut house when she talked about supernatural creatures chasing after her and her friends. A sigh escaped her throat.

“The Kanima was before the whole Alpha Pack and Darach incident.”

And just like that, Stiles had made her decision. She was tired of lying and keeping secrets. Besides, by talking, she could at least postpone cleaning her new room.

+++++++++++++++++++

Stiles tied the garbage bag shut. She was glad that the tissues no longer littered her floor. The memory of stepping with her bare foot on a pile of nasty squishy tissues made her shudder. The session with Dr. Meyers had gone longer than she had expected, although to be honest, she hadn’t really expected that much. What had surprised her the most was that he had not checked his watch, not once. Instead, he had been taking notes. A _lot_ of notes. She would bet that by the end of their talk - her talk, he had hardly spoken a word - his wrist must’ve been cramping pretty bad. It had felt good to talk, though, she had to admit that. Saying all of the things that had happened to her over the course of the last year out loud made them seem…less surreal. Strangely enough, Stiles didn’t have any form of anxiety during the session. No tears, no hiccups, no panic, nada. That she really hadn’t expected.

It was almost six in the evening when she trotted down the stairs, Adonis ever faithful at her heels. Her uncle was on his laptop.

“You left your room.” The mirth in his voice brought a smile to her face that almost reached her eyes.

“Yeah, well, I tried to will these used tissues,” she shook the garbage bag in her hand, “into nothingness but failed miserably. Where’s the trash can?”

“Just put it next to the door, I’ll take it outside when I go for a walk with Adonis.”

“Okay.” Stiles did as she was told before returning into the kitchen area. She took a look around the room.

The first floor was built very open; barely any walls obstructed the view from the kitchen into the dining and living area. To her left was a stained glass door, probably leading to the laundry or the garage. Behind the staircase, there was a peek of bookshelves. The openness conveyed a feeling of spaciousness without seeming too big.

“What’cha doing?” The girl plopped down next to her uncle on one of the four bar chairs at the counter.

“Trying to figure out what’s on tonight’s menu.” He turned the screen towards her. “Mexican sounds good, but this place _Meteora_ makes me crave for lamb.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but _Meteora_ ’s lamb sucks. If you want good lamb, you’ll have to go with _Kebaba_ , they’ve got some mean spicing going on and it’s delicious.”

“ _Kebaba_ it is then,” Mik quickly searched for their website, “how was your session with Will?”

“It was okay, I guess. Dunno, I didn’t think I would ever get the chance to talk to somebody about all of this craziness without being declared crazy myself, so there’s that.”

“Would you like him to come back? If you don’t want to that’s okay, you know? You’re old enough to get a say in this.”

“Cool,” Stiles watched the screen as her uncle scrolled through the online menu. Her stomach grumbled slightly when her eyes caught sight of number 22. It had been an eternity since she’d had number 22. Mik chuckled.

“You don’t like my sandwiches anymore?”

“Your sandwiches are awesome. I can’t eat a lot right now, anyway.”

“Well, there’s a reason people invented the fridge and the microwave. Oooh, number 38 looks good!”

+++++++++++++++++++

The covers made for an excellent cocoon. Stiles was all curled up in the warmth of the soft material, inhaling deeply. Her mind was already getting drowsy. She wasn’t used to being up and awake for more than a few hours anymore. Moving around, cleaning the floor, the therapy session, dinner with her uncle…she was exhausted and bordering on the verge of sleep while replaying the events of the day in her head.

She didn’t mind the idea of Dr. Meyers returning. For years, she had bottled up her emotions for the benefit of simply being able to function properly yet, she had come to the point where the cork could no longer keep the bottle closed. So maybe this therapy thing was good. Her mother had taught her to always try something at least twice in her life. Perhaps this second attempt at mental healing would work out better than the first one.

Dinner had been nice, too. She hadn’t eaten all that much - her stomach got a bit queasy when she ate too much too fast right now - but sharing time with her uncle had been really good. They had talked about his work, how he wanted to move the shop, what routes he took with Adonis when they ventured outside and how he had settled into Beacon Hills so far. Stiles had fought the pang of guilt when she realized how much change he had to go through because of her. He didn’t seem to mind, but still…

She nuzzled deeper into her cushion.

One of the things she had enjoyed the most about their dinner was them speaking Russian. Her mother had been of Polish and Russian descent while her father’s family was almost entirely Russian-American. Her mom would always talk Russian to her when she had been little and her dad had taken over the English part. Her grandparents, her dad’s parents, had taught all of their children the old language as part of their heritage. Stiles still used Russian when talking to her cousin Oxana although for the first minute she always sounded alien to herself. Whenever their family came together it was a huge jumble of English and Russian that, strangely enough, made her feel at home. It came also in pretty handy that she had taught herself how to write in Russian, using the Cyrillic script. Harris had been so mad at her that one time…

Stiles was already drifting into a dreamless sleep, when she felt her bed dipping. Her incoherent grumble was answered with an equally incoherent one, some sniffing and then, of course, Adonis decided to make himself comfortable by rolling and stretching around until he had reached his ideal sleeping position.

The teen snorted. “When you’re quite done.”

All she got in return was content sigh. 


	3. Interlude I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the clicks, comments and kudos^^ I realized that perhaps I should mention that reading the first part of the series could help you understand this story better, but of course that's entirely your choice.  
> So this interlude, yeah, it's almost a snippet, still it is relevant to the story. I like to call my interludes 'minor chapters'. I hope you like it, even though it's a bit shorter.

Scott steered his bike slowly down the road, so that he could easily read the house numbers and names on the mailboxes aligning neatly along the side of the boardwalk. His mother had made a few calls and eventually come up with Stiles’ new address.

To say that Scott had been surprised when he had found the Stilinski home - basically is second home - abandoned, would be an understatement.

It had been about a week after the lunar eclipse when he had first felt the need to go see Stiles. For some reason he hadn’t managed to even contact her over the course of the past days, something had always come up to distract him, therefore he kept pushing a visit off and off again.

Then, about two days ago, he had tried to check up on his best friend via Facebook only to find nothing. Stiles Stilinski was not in his friend list anymore, in fact, she wasn’t even on Facebook anymore. After the initial confusion had disappeared, Scott had also checked for her on twitter and Skype to no avail. Stiles’ profiles had vanished.

His mother had leaned against his door frame and regarded him with a look of sympathy and understanding. A slither of sadness had lingered in her scent.

“Have you tried calling her, yet?"

So Scott hat tried calling Stiles, however, _the number you are trying to call is not available_. He had then proceeded to texting, WhatsApp and SnapChat with the same result: none of his messages could reach Stiles.

“Scott,” his mother had stepped up to him and put a hand onto his shoulder, “this was an extremely painful loss for her. I’m sure she just needs some time to herself. Her uncle was at the hospital to,” she had swallowed, “to take care of things. She’s not alone right now, just give it some time.”

The teenage boy had hardly slept the following night. He had twisted and turned until the early morning hours, his thoughts occupied with forming a plan. At 3.07 a.m. he had decided that after work tomorrow, he would ride over to Stiles’ house to see how she was doing.

To find the house empty had felt like somebody knocking the air out of his lungs. Due to his enhanced senses, he had already known that by the time he had arrived nobody had been at home. Therefore, he had waited on the little patio area behind the house for Stiles to come home. He had waited for a long time before opting to venture inside. Scott might have been a werewolf; however that hadn’t spared him from the crisp air of early October that had been nipping at him. He could have just as well waited inside for the Stilinskis to return.

Having known where the spare key was, Scott had been shocked to find it gone when grabbing for it on one of the wooden support beams. For as long as he could have remembered, there had been a key right there.

_Had anybody stolen it?_

Luckily enough, he had spent enough time with more experienced werewolves to know how to let himself into a house by using his claws. It had only taken a sharp flick of his wrist with the tips of his elongated nails in the lock to open the back door.

As he had stepped into the hallway, the air around him had smelled stale with a strong whiff of cleaning agent. Everything about that smell had been off. Stiles’ home had never smelled like that, not ever. It had been wrong. So wrong.

Looking around the rooms, he had found them emptied out. In a fit of panic, he had run up the stairs and almost broken the door to Stiles’ room…to find it empty as well.

No furniture, no posters, no papers and DVD had lain scattered all over the floor. No scents either. No trace of his best friend.

Scott hadn’t felt the need to use his inhaler since he had been turned, nonetheless, at that point, his breath had came out in short rasps while his vision had gone slightly blurry and his heart had hammered in his chest. Panic had caused his hackles to rise and his shift had taken place subconsciously.

A pain stricken howl had echoed through the darkness of the house.

++++++++++++++++++++

Within a matter of hours after having conveyed the news to his mother, Melissa had produced a new address. It had taken some calls and a few old favors, but by midday, she had texted Scott the address of Stiles’ new… He couldn’t bring himself to think of it as her home. It was wrong. This wasn’t her home but just the place where she currently lived.

The house was situated in one of the nicer suburban areas surrounding the city. In fact, Lydia’s house was only a few blocks away and Scott inhaled sharply as he finally came to a stop in front of a spacious two story house.

He parked his bike along the curb, took his helmet off and just stood there for a moment, regarding the place skeptically.

Where had Stiles’ uncle gotten the kind of money to afford this sort of domicile? Maybe he had only rented it? But even then, that rent must have been enormous.

Scott stepped closer towards the house, intend on following the small path that led up to the doorway when all of the sudden, he rebounded from…from what exactly? Carefully, he extended his right hand in front of him to feel it touch…something. He quickly checked the ground for mountain ash, however he could neither see nor scent any. This was something else. Also, touching this _wall_ , for the lack of a better word, wasn’t as painful as the contact with a barrier of mountain ash. Still, what was this and why couldn’t he cross it? Had Stiles sealed this new home off to keep threats out? The boy knew that his friend had been researching defense tactics against supernatural creatures, so perhaps this was the result of her work. She might have gone a little overboard, given the fact that even he couldn’t access the property, nevertheless, this was Stiles and going overboard was kind of her thing. He remembered the glitter incident from second grade and smiled.

_How to get in then?_

“Can I help you?” Scott whipped his head around to see a tall man with a large dog, a Doberman, walking towards him.

He had seen him before somewhere, now where…? Of course, this was Stiles’ uncle. He remembered the pictures she had shown him after her obligatory two weeks of summer spent in Florida.

“I’m looking for Stiles,” he was trying to keep calm, mostly because he didn’t want to provoke a showdown with the dog. Ever since he had received the bite, the animals at the clinic had reacted to him way differently than before. While some submitted immediately, others got riled up by his presence. The Doberman however remained peaceful when they came to a halt in front of Scott. He lay down on the pavement, crossing his front legs over each other, seemingly relaxed yet curious about Scott.

“You must be Scott.” Mik shook hands with the boy, giving him a once over. “Zdzi is probably already asleep. She goes to bed early these days. But maybe you’re lucky and she’s still up.”

Scott stumbled for a second when he heard the name Zdzi. The last time he had heard somebody call her by that name had been over eight years ago. It sounded alien even though it was Stiles’ name.

The man continued to walk up to the front door and Scott meant to follow him, yet he was once again stopped by the invisible wall. His inability to proceed didn’t go unnoticed.

“Interesting,” Mik regarded him thoughtfully, “I guess you won’t be seeing my niece tonight, then.” He turned back towards the door.

“Wait.” Scott called after him. “What is this thing?”

“Just some basic security,” the blond answered nonchalantly while retrieving his keys from his jacket, “you know, to keep all the _nasties_ out. Good night, Scott.” With that he stepped inside and closed the door without ever looking back at the teenage boy.

Scott’s level of perplexity had reached a new high. He slammed his hands against the barrier several times before an electrical shock went through his entire body, causing his muscles to spasm violently. He staggered backwards until his legs hit his bike.

It took him a moment to catch his breath.

Sending one last look at the house, he put on his helmet and started his bike. Once he would arrive home, he would inform the others about this development.

They didn’t need another Gerard.

++++++++++++++++++++

Mik exhaled loudly into his mug. He had expected to run into one of Zdzi’s friends sooner or later but why did Scott have to be the first one? The kid was like a surrogate brother for her and he had had to send him away in such a way.

Of course, making it seem like he had a problem with the teen’s lycanthropy was a whole lot easier than telling him that he was no good for Zdzisława right now.

That was a discussion he definitely did _not_ want to have.

Also, the boy showing up at their new home meant that Claudia’s magic was wearing off, so he should be prepared for more situations such as this.

He groaned.

Being the asshole was not his favorite thing to do, but if it meant that his niece got the time to herself that she desperately needed, he would gladly do it.


	4. Oct 7th, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one done! Yes! Happy^^
> 
> Thanks for reading this story, your kudos and your comments. I'm weirdly excited about every hit this story gets. It's like "yay, somebody decided to read it, woohoo!"

Stiles’ new closet was _huge_.

There was no other way of describing it. She might not have any measuring equipment at hand, although being fairly sure that there ought to be some tape and at least one folding rule somewhere in the boxes stacked in front of her, but that did not deter her.

Before, yes, the girl like to refer to it as _before_ , she had had a wardrobe, a dresser and some shelves, yet, none of those combined came even close to the sheer amount of storage room this walk-in closet - _walk-in_ \- offered. Stiles figured that the rectangular room - it most definitely counted as a room in itself - had originally been part of her new bedroom until someone had put up a wall to divide one large room up into separate sections. To satisfy her suspicious mind, Stiles had knocked on the walls and found that indeed the wall between the closet and the room was resonating differently than brick. If she were to guess, she would say that it was probably made from sheetrock.

The teen had already moved her clothes back into the boxes, carried them into this _dressing room_ \- and that was so what she was going to call this thing - and then, well, she had plopped down onto the floor and just taken her time looking around.

The IKEA theme that made up her bedroom transferred seamlessly onto the walk-in. Behind the mirrored sliding door separating the two spaces, Stiles had found a PAX system which stretched across three walls, leaving the sheetrock wall she was currently resting her back against vacant. Everything was kept in white without any doors obscuring the sight of empty shelves, hangers and drawers waiting to be filled with her junk. An LED track light fixture provided enough brightness to see a slight gleam on the coated surfaces.

Stiles felt overwhelmed. The idea of organizing this gorgeous dressing room scared her because if she had been given something this nice, then she should at least care about arranging it properly. This was one of the reasons she had never really gotten herself anything nice. Nice things were like an obligation to treat them nicely and with care. Like the Blink 182 shirt that Scott had gotten years ago for his birthday that, so far, he hadn’t worn even once out of fear of ruining it. What good was it to own something if the mere thought of using it caused you constant worry?

Of course, she had had her DVD collection, her laptop and her iPad for example, which were neat but not nice. Nice was a whole ‘nother ball game. _Nice_ was bordering on _cute_ and Stiles did not do _cute_. She might have donned _cute_ before her mother had passed away, however afterwards? _Cute_ had become almost like a curse word. She hadn’t wanted to be _cute_ but to be strong and awesome and _cute_ just didn’t cut it for her.

Cute was for girly girls and Stiles wasn’t a girly girl. She was Batman and not Mary Jane…even though MJ was kind of badass, too, but that wasn’t the point, okay?

She sighed, closing her eyes and tapping the back of her head against the wall a couple of times.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Her uncle stepped into the walk-in and plopped down next to her. He handed her a bottle. “Don’t know where to start?”

“Not really, no.” Stiles confirmed while regarding the bottle in her hand with mild interest. It was coconut water. She had bought the first couple of bottles about a year ago as part of her dad’s diet. Of course, her father had denied the need for ‘fancy water that tastes like swamp’, so she had ended up drinking it and even though the first sip had been really gross, the taste had grown on her and every now and then, Stiles had gotten a few bottles for herself. “Where did you get that?”

“It was in your old fridge. Thought you might like it.” Mik twisted the cap off of his own drink. The midday stroll he had taken Adonis to had left him thirsty.

“Thank you.” The teen whispered before opening the bottle, lifting it to her lips and enjoying the cool liquid hitting the roof of her mouth.

For a moment, they sat in silence. Then, Mikhail stood up and moved towards the boxes stacked high in one corner of the closet.

“Fair warning,” Stiles also rose from the ground, her joints protesting slightly, therefore, she stretched her arms into the air until a popping noise was heard, “I don’t know exactly where my underwear’s at.”

The man stopped abruptly as though frozen. “You go open the boxes then and I’ll help you sort things out. No underwear, though. Your aunt marred me for life when I was twelve.”

Stiles chuckled lightly. Her aunt had always had a way of terrorizing her brothers. A lot of the stories she had been told had helped her win the _Great Prank War of ’09_ against Scott. Evidently, Scott would still claim that she hadn’t played fair, but there had never been a rule stating that tampons and strawberry liqueur hadn’t been allowed.

“So what are the rules?” Opening the box closest to her and fishing out a dark blue t-shirt, she looked at her uncle questioningly.

“Rule number one,” he took the shirt from her, twisting it around, “if it’s got more holes than it’s supposed to have, “one of his long fingers poked through a hole in the neck seam, “it’s gone.” He threw the shirt past her near the doorway.

“But that’s only a little hole. I could still wear it for, like, sleep and lounging around or on laundry day.” The severity of the situation dawned on Stiles. If holes meant no go, then she would have to say good bye to a lot of stuff. She wouldn’t allow for years of wearing, stretching and tearing to go to waste like this. “If you wanna throw out all the stuff that’s got holes in, I won’t have anything left to wear.”

“So, we’ll get you some new stuff. Next one, please.”

She reluctantly handed him a plaid shirt from the box. “But I like my stuff. I don’t need new stuff. There’s nothing wrong with my stuff. So there’s no need to throw anything away. It’s perfectly fine. Besides, getting new stuff could really upset me right now, with my…”

“What are these stains right here?” Mik interrupted her before she would start a major rant. By disrupting her train of thoughts, she usually lost track of where she had been to begin with. It was one of the many tricks his brother had taught him over the years. When noticing her confused look, he pointed at the shirt he was holding. “There are stains right here. What are they?”

“Um,” Stiles scratched the back of her head, then her neck, trying to remember the last time she had worn the garment, “I don’t know. Could be anything.” And with anything, she really meant _anything_. Given that for the better part of the past year she had run from evil werewolves, kanimas and darachs, the stains could literally be anything from soda to blood.

“And it’s gone.”

Stiles’ eyes widened in horror. Her uncle was serious about this. No!

“No!” She flailed a little when fixing him with a stern glare. “It’s not gone. You can’t just throw it out because of some stains. They might wash out; you don’t know that they won’t, you should at least give it a try. These are my clothes and I happen to like them. A lot. There’s nothing wrong with them. They’re staying where they are”, her eyes stung with the beginning of tears and breath came in short rasps as she bent down to pick up the discarded pieces of clothing. When she turned around, her uncle had walked up to her and he pulled her into a tight embrace.

“It’s okay.” He murmured into her hair, slowly caressing the back of her head. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” breaths became sobs while tears escaped from her eyes. Stiles could feel her nose clogging up. “It’s not okay.”

“It will be, though.” Mik just kept holding her, stroking her back, comforting her. It would be okay, he would make sure of that.

++++++++++++++++++++

By evening, Mikhail had started to prepare dinner for them. He might not be a chef, yet his spaghetti with Bolognese were pretty decent. Also, after more than a week of take out, he felt the need for something homemade.

Zdzi had gone to bed once she had calmed down enough from her light panic attack in the closet. Cleaning out her belongings was necessary; still, they would put it on hold until she was ready or at least a little better. Of course, the loss of both of her parents was bound to cause separation anxiety to some degree and Mik would have to acknowledge that. At the same time, though, he knew how much his niece lacked structure and that it would eventually help her. He tried not to think about the highly judgmental look Adonis had given him when the dog had hopped upon the girl’s bed to soothe her.

 _Traitor_. A man and his dog were supposed to work as a team. Well, at least Adonis wouldn’t be able to tell anybody. He already had the uncomfortable image of his mother deciding to leave Fort Lauderdale in order to live with them ghosting around in his head. He did so not need that!

The sound of steps caused him to look up from the cheese he had been grating. The sight of his niece astonished him as she gingerly walked down the stairs, carrying one of her packing cases.

“Hey.” She greeted him timidly when she passed him to put the case into the entryway.

“Hey.” A second plate was quickly added to the one that was already on the table in their kitchen nook. “What is all of that?”

“I sorted out.” Stiles took a can of soda from the fridge. “Sorry for freaking out.”

“Come here,” he gently held her by her shoulders, “there’s nothing to be sorry for, okay? Just put in a good for me with Adonis.”

The small smile on her face was contagious. “What did you do to him that he would be mad at you?”

“He thinks I upset you and he won’t have any of that. Can you believe it?”

“He’s a very smart dog.” At that, Adonis’ ears perked up and he trotted into the kitchen area, interested in what his humans were doing. “Just bribe him with T-R-E-A-T-S. He would do pretty much anything for food.”

“Maybe some other time, but now, we’re going to have spaghetti.” Mik watched her taking a seat at the table while he handed Adonis his evening Kong. The Doberman gladly accepted his dinner and began to devour it right on the kitchen floor.

Dinner conversation was light like the previous evenings, however, at one point, Stiles poked absentmindedly at her food, as though she was contemplating something on her mind.

“So, when I went through my stuff, I noticed a couple of things.”

“Like what?” Mik took a sip of his water, already wondering where this conversation might be headed.

“Like, I found both my Adderall and my birth control in the boxes and I’ve, like, taken neither one of those for the past couple of days, but for some reason that didn’t trigger, like, any physical reactions that I know I should be having, so what’s up with that?” Her confusion and worry were clearly visible in the slight crease between her brows.

“Well, you see, you don’t really need these anymore. At least not the birth control and with the Adderall, we’ll have to see how this works out.”

“I don’t think I understand.” Stiles sat back in her chair, leaving her food discarded. “Why wouldn’t I need them anymore? Birth control is important, you know, even though I’m lacking sexy times.”

He grimaced at that comment. “That’s good to know, I guess. But the reason you don’t need them anymore is because by awakening, the rules have changed for you. You no longer have the ability to bear children unless you’re on vacation and it’ll be some time till They’re gonna send you on one. As for the Adderall,” he scrunched up his nose, “we are meant to serve the Powers that Be. We are their messengers and as a result, we get some perks for example our overall health. We cannot catch HIV, at least I’ve never heard of it. The same goes for cancer, Alzheimer’s, not necessarily obesity or depression, though. We get spared some of the shit that’s out there today, so that we can fulfill our duties accordingly.”

“But that comes at a price,” the girl whispered under her breath.

“There’s no such thing as ‘no strings attached’.” Mik had to admit it. There might be advantages to their existence, yet those did not come for free. He had seen others break under the tasks bestowed upon them, had been close to the edge himself at one point. And now he was here, sharing some insight on the life of a messenger with his niece who’d just lost her father because of some rule that he wasn’t even allowed to explain properly to her.

“Condoms are still a big thing, though.” He quickly added, much to her chagrin. Yes, she was sixteen and she was not too keen on discussing her sex life with her uncle. “STIs like Chlamydia and gonorrhea are a bitch.” That got him another smile, even though the girl was blushing fiercely.

“What about the house? Does that count as a perk?”

“Maybe. I mean, it’s nice but They knew that if They hadn’t arranged for me to inherit it, I probably wouldn’t have moved here but made you stay with me instead. They’re not stupid. They know that money doesn’t grow on trees, although it would be in Their power to create such trees, of course.”

“What’s that supposed to mean ‘They arranged for you to inherit the house’? Like They planned on murdering the people that lived here before? Now that is just wrong.”

“No, They didn’t murder anybody.” Mik laughed around a spoonful of spaghetti, chewing slowly. “The people that lived here before were an old couple. Their time had come and They made sure that I got this place the cheapest way possible. Although, come to think of it, real estate prices have been dropping drastically these past couple of months, so perhaps, I would have gotten a good deal somewhere else.”

“Yeah, well, no one wants to live in a town that’s got people missing and being killed left and right.” Stiles played with the tap of the soda can. “I’m kinda worried what type of crowd this is going to attract.”

“We’ll have to wait and see.” He cleaned his plate with a bit of Ciabatta bread. “What I can tell you, though, is that for now, we are not going to worry about that, understood? Instead, you tell me how much stuff you’ve got left in your closet.”

“You mean my new _dressing room_ ,” she corrected him with an air of candid cheerfulness lacing her words, “well, I still got a smaller box and a garbage bag upstairs. There were a lot of holes and unidentifiable stains in a lot of places. There’s not much left after the _Purge_. You can have a look, if you want to.”

“It’s not a dressing room. It only counts as a full-fledged room, if it’s got a window. You’ve got a closet.”

“Whatever.” Stiles rolled her eyes. She would still call it her dressing room no matter what he said.

++++++++++++++++++++

Mikhail whistled through his teeth. Zdzi hadn’t lied: there was really not much left. What was left could hardly even be considered a wardrobe. Seven shirts, 3 hoodies, a jacket, three pairs of pants and some sports equipment. He didn’t bother to check the amount of underwear, shoes, socks and sleepwear.

“I told you.” Stiles stood behind him, her arms crossed in front of her belly, her fingers wringing nervously at the material of her sweatpants. Adonis was sitting at her feet.

“You did,” he said turning towards her, “but why did you sort out that much?”

“Well,” the girl shrugged uncomfortably, “at first I just sorted out the pieces with holes and stains. But then I just, I don’t know, I added the stuff that had become too small since I’ve had it for so long that I had outgrown it. Then, I looked for stuff that I never wore anyway, like, you know, that one sundress that Babushka bought for me last year. I only wore that for her and I just…why bother keeping it? And then, I went on and threw all the stuff out that never really fit me anyways and then, well, I ended up with the pieces over there that I only want to keep because a, I need at least something to cover myself with and b, that red hoody is my good luck hoody, so I can’t really give that away.”

“You do realize that if you don’t tell Jelena about this, I’ll have to do it, right?” Mik tried to lighten the mood a little. It was evident how much effort his niece had put into this; she shouldn’t regret her decision.

“Why’s that?”

“Because she’ll never let me hear the end of it, if I don’t tell her that you need an entire new wardrobe. This has been her dream for years, you know?”

“I don’t really wanna bother her with that. I mean,” Stiles bit her lower lip, “she’s busy enough as it is with the magazine and all.”

“Niece,” Mik guided her gently out of the closet, through her room and into the adjacent hallway, “your aunt, my dear sister, has been going on and on about dressing you for years. Now I know that your styles may differ, but at least, give her a chance. This woman is a champion shopper and I have the utmost faith in her abilities, although you’re never allowed to tell her that I said that,” he had led her into his office, where he gently pushed her into his desk chair. While opening and starting his laptop, he continued, “there’s nothing wrong with asking for help. She can always say no, yet we both know that she won’t. Just give it a try.”

He was about to log in to Skype, when Stiles remembered something.

“And how am I supposed to pay for a whole new wardrobe? I know that Aunt Jena is a master haggler, but clothes cost money and knowing her, she won’t go for the cheap stuff either.”

“That is all taken care of.” The man produced an envelope out of nowhere and handed it to the girl.

“What is that?” Stiles examined the envelope carefully. It was addressed to her, however she could not see who had sent it. When she opened it, a card fell onto the desk and she plucked a single sheet of paper out. It was an account statement.

“That’s your welcoming gift.” Mik took the card from the table. “Like I said, the Powers provide. Think of it as compensation.”

“Compensation for forbidding me to see my parents? Or for forcing me to lie to my friends? Or for crashing my car into a tree?” Sarcasm dripped heavily from every word. How could They think that money would be an adequate compensation for all of the shit she had had to put up with?!

“All of the above and more.”

“Yeah, well, no amount of, whoa,” the teenager’s mouth formed a tiny ‘o’ when she saw the current account balance. That was a lot of compensation!

Next to her, Mikhail chuckled lightly while logging in to his Skype account. “Just don’t tell your aunt that she can spend all of it. I’m leaving with Adonis now, but we’ll be back in an hour or so. Tell her I said ‘hi’.”

And just like that, he left the room with Adonis trailing behind him.

Stiles could only stare until the sound of an incoming chat caught her attention. She clicked to accept and smacked her lips in anticipation the moment her aunt’s face appeared on the screen.


	5. Interlude II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a little longer than I wanted, too...again...but I got finished and it's one chapter closer to the end ;)
> 
> Thank you for your hits, kudos and comments and also THANK YOU FOR SUBSCRIBING! I always forget about the subscribers and that's just not fair.
> 
> So this interlude is dedicated to the people who subscribed <3

The sound of Lydia’s wooden heels hitting the cheap linoleum floor at a brisk pace echoed through the hallways of Beacon Hills High. Her brand new suede ankle boots were gorgeous, of course, and entirely appropriate for the fall season just like the rest of her outfit plus makeup.

_Not that anybody has noticed, though_. Her upper lip jerked slightly, turning her relaxed features momentarily into an annoyed grimace.

Evidently, she hadn’t expected any of the boys to comment on her new attire. Years of experience with the male gender had taught her that one should not set their demands too high considering their percipiency. Jackson had mostly cared for her looking ‘hot’ in order to compliment his own image. Aiden was primarily interested in getting the redhead out of her clothes. Lydia’s mother had made it a point to always remind her daughter that she should not have to dress for anybody except herself.

By no means would Lydia ever admit to desiring recognition for her fashion choices. She didn’t need others to tell her that she was stunning. The boys’ roaming eyes, some girls’ jealous glares and others’ longing glances were enough of a compliment, although to be honest, people’s reactions to her looks had lost their meaning to her after the past couple of months.

The bite, having been possessed by Peter, having turned into a banshee and the overall Darach situation had shifted not only her view on life but life itself. She now had friends, real friends, people she could rely on, people she could trust even though trust still didn’t come easily to her. Many years at the top of the social totem pole had left her with memories of so called friends talking behind her back, sharing things they were supposed to keep to themselves, yet smiling at her all too convincingly when they sat together for lunch.

Her status might have suffered a little during the time that Peter had turned her into a complete whack job; nonetheless, Lydia had recovered quickly. The girl was on top of her game, she would not let herself be deterred by anything. The Darach was defeated and she would enjoy the calm after the literal storm they had encountered.

Her mother had decided to reenter the teaching world and was as of now their substitute teacher for science. Her relationship with Aiden was currently on hold given that both he and his brother needed some time to themselves after the recent disaster. All of her friends had survived the night of the lunar eclipse and yes, she felt no longer uncomfortable when she referred to them as _her friends_.

A faint feeling of guilt ghosted through her. They might be alive however, not all of them were in a good place. They still hadn’t heard anything from Stiles and after Scott had alerted them about her uncle, well, they hadn’t come up with a plan of action thus far. Stiles had always been the strategist of the group, the one who had schemed their moves. At present, they had agreed that Scott would talk to Deaton while doing regular patrols around Stiles’ new home in hopes of getting a word with her without her uncle interfering. Allison had already informed her father; he would make some calls, check his contacts for intel on any correlation between Stiles’ uncle and the supernatural world.

Lydia got the vague impression that they weren’t seeing the entire picture but refrained from voicing her doubts out loud due to the constant shadow that had attached itself to their little group of friends: _the new girl_.

Kira Yukimura.

The Asian American had shown up shortly after the night of the lunar eclipse since her father had been accepted into Beacon Hill High as their new history teacher. Kira had taken the empty seat - _Stiles’ seat_ \- next to Scott and Scott, ever the gullible saint that he was, had immediately sympathized with her being the new girl; a nobody, basically.

Frankly, Lydia was suspicious about her. Kira had quickly integrated herself into their group, making it impossible to speak freely about the supernatural even though the girl had shown great interest and even some insight whenever a preternatural subject had been touched. Allison had reassured her that there was nothing unusual about Kira’s behavior. Seeing that the young huntress was used to moving and being the new girl herself, she had attributed Kira’s rapid adaption to the girl’s lifestyle.

Apparently, as Kira had mentioned, her family tended to move at least once a years due to her parents’ inability to settle down permanently. Strangely enough, Allison had adopted Scott’s _positive attitude_ and had begun to include Kira into their activities. Hence, Lydia had had to go to the restroom by herself because Allison had stayed with Kira so they could study further during their free period. No, she was not _jealous_ of the other girl. Jealousy was beneath her. And she did not care that Allison hadn’t commented on her new outfit while she had talked to Kira about her new patterned tights.

_Leopard!_ Lydia snorted. However, she had put on a polite smile and endured the ensuing conversation.

Lydia Martin was not a hater, after all.

As she turned around the corner to get back to the library, she halted in her step, the echo of her heels dying within seconds.

There was a man at Stiles’ locker. There was a tall man standing in front of Stiles’ open locker, emptying the contents of said locker into a simple dark canvas back placed on the floor. Lydia took in his appearance: tall, _very_ tall, short blond hair, lightly tanned skin, broad shoulders. Or perhaps that was just his dark grey leather jacket creating an illusion.

Lydia’s stupor dissolved quickly as she flipped a lock of her hair over her shoulder, straightened up and marched towards him.

“What are you doing there?” She tilted her chin a bit upwards when he turned towards her, a smile parting his lips, revealing naturally white looking teeth.

“You must be Miss Martin,” he put another book into the bag at his feet. Then, as he had stowed it away, he extended his right hand. “Mikhail Stilinski, I’m Zdzisława’s uncle, nice to meet you.”

Lydia shook his hand abstractedly. The name Zdzisława brought forth a memory from the depths of her mind. A memory of long dark curls, colorful Alice bands and pretty dresses that would swirl around during a game of tag. The memory seemed out of place, out of time, like something so far in the past that Lydia wasn’t quite sure whether or not it was real.

“Mhm.” The girl pressed her lips together, forming at thin line. Under normal circumstances, she would have no problem socializing with anybody, yet given the fact that this guy was aware of Scott’s lycanthropy, it wasn’t all that difficult to conclude that he was also in the know about her abilities. She would have to approach this one carefully. “How is Stiles doing?”

“Marginally better every day,” Mik took another notebook from the locker, “she’s past the initial shock but she’s nowhere near fine. Functioning maybe, but only on a very basic level. She needs time to process everything that’s happened and given that a lot of shit has happened, it’s gonna take a while.”

“Maybe I could come over for a visit? Cheer her up a little.” Lydia put on the smile that tended to get her pretty much anything. Discounts, dates, no speeding tickets, a new credit card - she was her mother’s daughter after all.

“Nah, I wouldn’t want you to get electrocuted like Scott.” His blue eyes glinted mischievously. “One would think that the boy would understand what a protection barrier was, but no,” he shook his head, sighing in exasperation, “he has to throw himself against it with all of his might only to get struck by lightning.”

“A protection barrier?” The girl’s interest was sincere. The more information she could gather the better. “Scott is not an enemy. He would never hurt Stiles. They’ve been best friends since kindergarten; it’s ridiculous to think that Stiles needed protection from Scott.”

“If he meant no harm then the barrier would’ve allowed him to go through. I’ll admit that I’ve got the settings pretty high right now but that’s just a precaution. I just lost my brother, I’m not taking any risks with my niece.”

“But Scott would never be a threat to Stiles.” Lydia scoffed at that idea. Scott McCall wasn’t even capable of hurting a fly. Perhaps he would swat at a mosquito, however he would probably feel bad for doing it afterwards.

“Not to her physical health, but what Zdzi needs right now is to sort out her emotions.” Mik fixated the teenager with a piercing glance. “For the first time in years, she's facing her demons and I won’t have anybody interrupting that. What do you think would happen, if they were to talk? The moment she saw him, she would feel guilty for making him worry and that would put an end to her chance at recovery. I won’t allow that to happen. I owe it to my brother and my sister-in-law not to let that happen. And it’s not like I don’t want her to see her friends but right now, it’s just not what she needs to become better. It’s too much of a distraction for her because thesecond somebody says something along the lines of ‘I miss you, get better soon’ whatever, she’ll feel obligated to comply which won’t do her any good. Don't you understand that?”

Lydia pursed her lips thoughtfully. It wasn’t like she wasn’t aware of the fact that Stiles was bound to have some difficulties after her father’s death, however it hadn’t occurred to her how deep the girl’s issues might actually go. Stiles had never displayed a strong instinct of self preservation. Her inability to focus and her complete lack of social skills had reduced her to the part of the totem pole that was in the ground, invisible to everybody apart from those few seconds of spotlight her vocal outburst bestowed upon her. She had been unimportant, both her and Scott had been nobodies. Then, Scott had become their star lacrosse player and whereas he had gotten more attention - Lydia would still shudder at the mere thought that she had even considered him as a potential _boyfriend_ \- Stiles had still been caught in the shadows.

Although, Lydia had to admit, while people took hardly notice of Stiles’ presence, they definitely took notice of her absence. Her sharp wit and lack of a filter had always been good for a certain amount of entertainment during the more tedious subjects. There had been a perceivable shift particularly in the classes demanding a bit more brain. Stiles had always been able to hold her own in an argument, justifying her points with well chosen facts. She was reliable in her knowledge and most teachers valued that however, now that the brunette wasn’t around, the teachers focused more on other, quieter students much to those students’ chagrin.

Over the first week of Stiles’ absenteeism, Coach Finstock had occasionally called out ‘ _Stilinski!_ ’ when he had gotten too frustrated with the class’ disinterest, only to be reminded by Danny that ‘ _Stilinski isn’t here, Coach_ ’ which had resulted in ‘ _Yeah, well, if she was here, I wouldn’t have to waste my precious life waiting for somebody to. Answer. A simple. Question! Greenberg put your hand down, if I wanted to laugh, I would look at my sorry excuse for a paycheck!_ ’

“I see, I got my point across.” The man interpreted her silence as a sign of comprehension. “Just give her some time, some distance. She’ll come around. She’s a Stilinski after all.”

“Well, if it’s not too much trouble, tell her I said ‘hi’ then and if she needs any help with catching up on schoolwork, I wouldn’t mind helping her,” Lydia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “given the fact that she now lives pretty close to my house, it wouldn’t be that much of a stretch to come over.”

“Thank you, that’s very thoughtful of you,” her aloof attitude caused him to chuckle. _Teenagers_. There was only one book left in the locker. Mik handed it to Lydia. “Here, seems like it’s yours.”

Lydia accepted the simple hardcover that had a note stuck to its front with Stiles’ scrawl reading ‘ _For_ _Lydia_ ’. She frowned. This definitely wasn’t one of her books and she had no idea as to why Stiles would get her a book. It looked new, yet there were neither title nor blurb, just a soft pink ribbon tied around its body to keep it from opening.

Before the girl could inquire about the book, Mikhail had already hoisted the canvas bag over his shoulder and closed the empty locker. “I’ll let you know when Zdzi is better.” His smile was reassuring. It reminded Lydia a lot of the sheriff. There was a definite family resemblance in the way the men carried themselves.

“That would be great.”

With that they departed. Mikhail heading for the exit, while Lydia took her phone from her purse in order to text the others about this encounter. Upon noting that their talk had taken longer than expected, she decided against texting, put the book into her bag and hurried back to the library. She had every intention to finish her biology homework before school would end.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Lydia had just finished planning her outfit for the upcoming day. Everything left to do was to repack her bag and then, she would braid her hair for the night. It tended to get less tangled overnight, if she took proper care of it the evening before.

As she emptied the purse she had used today, a quilted leather saddlebag that she had acquired roughly two years ago, she found herself astonished when the small hardcover fell onto her desk. How had she forgotten about it?

Leaving the contents of her purse aside for the moment, the teen sat down on her desk chair and made short work out of opening the note attached to the front. The sight of an elaborate but entirely unfamiliar handwriting greeted her. There was no way Stiles had written this.

_Dear Lydia Martin_ , the letter began, _I hope that both this letter and the book have reached you in good health. Knowing the trouble our kind can attract, particularly at a young age when our abilities are still settling in, it is fair to say that I do worry about your wellbeing quite a bit._

The further Lydia read, the wider her eyes got.

She wouldn’t go to bed early that night.


	6. Oct 10th, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much progress actionwise in this one. It's rather descriptive.
> 
> The next one is where, finally, something's going to happen! Yay!
> 
> I'm not mad if you don't leave kudos and/or comments on this chapter. I thought about making it another interlude but eventually decided against it. 
> 
> I'm just glad you're sticking around <3

Adonis stood between his humans, looking from one to the other. The Doberman desperately wanted to understand why they hadn’t moved for some time now and limited their actions to staring at some boxes his boss had deposited on the large table in the dining area. The mailman having rung the doorbell had woken him a little too early from his midmorning nap, but after his initial drowsiness had passed, the dog had been more than curious about the large parcels. One of them carried the rather delicious scent of his grandmother’s homemade dog biscuits.

“What exactly did you tell your aunt?” Mik, arms crossed in front of his chest, looked incredulously at the assortment of boxes on their dining table.

The strong oak had appeared as a more secure site for the shipment from Fort Lauderdale than their kitchen table. Hell, their kitchen table barely provided enough space to place everything that had arrived this morning. The mailman had gladly accepted Mik’s offer to help him unload.

“Nothing.” Stiles chewed nervously on her lower lip, her left hand rubbing along the line of her right upper arm. “Just that I needed some new stuff. Like you said I should.” The slightly defensive tone in her voice was laced with astonishment. The sheer amount of stuff that had arrived was beyond her imagination.

She was wracking her brain for details about the conversation she had had with her aunt the other night nonetheless, there was nothing that came even remotely close to justify all of this stuff on their dining table. Well, it was supposed to be their dining table but so far, they hadn’t used it for dining so perhaps Stiles would just refer to it as the big table for now. That thing was huge. And massive! It hadn’t even creaked when her uncle and the mailman had loaded the parcels on top of it.

“Then why did she send enough stuff to supply an entire store?” The man gestured at the display in front of them before scratching the light stubble on his chin. He hadn’t shaved that morning.

“How am I supposed to know? She’s your sister, take responsibility for her. You’ve known her way way longer than I’ve known her, so this,” the girl swiveled her index finger at their mail, “is at least up to fifty-one percent on your shoulders. Make that fifty-two ‘cause I’m emotionally challenged right now so you can’t really hold me accountable for any of,” she flailed a little with her arms to stress her point, “this.”

“’ _Emotionally challenged_ ’, huh?” A wicked grin graced Mikhail’s features. Finally, some of his niece’s spirit returned. His brother had warned him that he would soon come to find himself in a love-hate-relationship with the teen’s stubbornness yet, for now, he was glad for another step towards normality. Their normality involving the supernatural still, beggars shouldn’t be choosers.

Stiles merely shrugged and tugged at a strand of her hair. “Maybe we should just open them?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

They remained motionless for several more minutes until Mikhail retrieved a clasp knife from his jeans pocket and began to cut through the packing tape.

++++++++++++++++++++

As it turned out, Aunt Jelena had recruited both her cousin Oxana and her Babushka for a shopping trip at Sawgrass Mills and some shops in Downtown Miami. Within the large parcels - seriously, the largest one could have easily housed someone - had been a wide array of store shopping bags, smaller packages and some carefully wrapped Tupperware.

Stiles grinned at her uncle’s exasperated ‘ _I’m a thirty-seven year old man whose mother feels the need to send him Tupperware. Why_?’ that had been followed by a pleading look towards the heavens. The moment he had discovered that her grandmother had also bought him clothes, he had resigned himself to shaking his head and taking the maternal care in stride. A personal note had been added to each bag and box, stating what was inside and how it was meant to be used. At first, Stiles had rolled her eyes at the idea that someone felt the need to explain the purpose of pants, but the notes were more about styling and combining tips.

At least the notes for the clothes. Knowing her family, she should have expected them to go fully overboard with this. Her distinctive drive to fulfill any task bestowed upon her to the best of her abilities wasn’t a trait she had inherited from her mother’s side, no, that was all the Stilinski blood running through her veins. 

The amount of clothes she had received was _enormous_ \- she had just told her aunt that she needed some things to get by on a daily basis until she felt like going shopping on her own again; instead, she had gotten a total of six pairs of jeans, five chinos, seven pairs of tights, four henleys, nine three-quarter sleeve shirts, two plaid boyfriend shirts, three tunic tops, twelve singlets, four pairs of leggings, about a dozen of short-sleeved shirts, underwear, _more_ underwear, socks, two jackets, a windbreaker, a puffy coat and even sportswear.

Of course, the women had only gotten quality stuff. That in itself wouldn’t have bothered Stiles all too much if they had kept it low-key. The list of things she was currently putting away in her dressing room continued, though.

Shoes. They had sent shoes. One pair of sneakers, two pairs of knee-high leather boots, two pairs of ballet flats and…heels. Stiles had had to swallow when she had picked up the first pair of wedge ankle boots out of its box. The heel, _the wedge_ , she had corrected herself mentally, wasn’t too high, perhaps two inches or so yet, the note attached to the box that had declared the booties ‘ _training heels_ ’. Two inches were past ‘ _training_ ’ in Stiles’ book. Two inches were at least bordering on ‘ _advanced_ ’. Even if the note said that wedges were way easier to walk in than actual heels, referring to two inches as ‘ _training_ ’ was pure mockery. They looked good though, the shoes. Just like the second pair of ankle boots whose heels measured about three inches according to their box. The single pair of pumps stood at three and a half inches. The patent leather gleamed in the light of the LED. All shiny and new.

A little voice in the back of Stiles had whispered nasty snippets about another dust catcher however, she had squished that thought into nothingness because there had still been more things in need of a storage place. Looking around the not so empty anymore dressing room now, Stiles was pretty sure that she had only mentioned clothing while having talked to her aunt. She wouldn’t put her hand in the fire for it, but she was, like, about ninety-seven percent sure and that was pretty good given the fact that with her miniscule attention span, she normally didn’t even remember the things she had said about an hour ago.

Naturally, the term ‘ _clothing_ ’ left room for interpretation, so the three infinity scarves, a schoolboy hat, a woolen knit hat and the two belts shouldn’t really have surprised her that much, the bags on the other side? Those had been entirely unexpected.

There had been a total of four bags in one of the shopping bags: a tote/shopper type canvas bag with dark leather straps and a print looking like the writing on vintage postcards, a little colorful leather wristlet, a satchel bag and a small cross-body bag. The tote and the satchel were obviously meant for school. Oxana had always complained about the battered state of her everyday backpack. Said backpack had already been assigned a place in the dressing room - in one of the corners where Stiles would not immediately see it.

The thought of going back to school had been on the verge of her mind for a few days now since cleaning her room, sleeping, eating and the frequent therapy session - Dr. Meyers had so far returned twice after their first meeting - could only keep her occupied for so long. To be honest, Stiles was getting a bit restless. She had even entertained the idea of celebrating a digital resurrection after she had pretty much committed digital suicide the week after her father’s departure. In a rare moment of awareness, she had gotten up in the middle of the night and deleted every online profile she had ever created. No more Facebook, Twitter, Google plus, Apple ID, Skype - you name it - she had deleted it all using some third party software which she had found online.

Since her phone had gone missing the night of the lunar eclipse, she hadn’t had a chance to deactivate her voicemail yet, she had figured that the phone had been dead either way and shrugged it off. She didn’t even know why she had done it but the moment she had deleted her profiles, it had made so much sense to her. It had felt right in a way. She had wanted to be left alone so cutting of all ties to the digital world had seemed like the appropriate thing to do. Frankly, Stiles didn’t regret her decision even if it had been based on a whim.

The internet wasn’t judgmental like that, the girl could always return if she wanted to. Come to think of it that was actually one of the greatest things about the place. Rid it of all the conspiracies, haters, nerds and trolls and it was really kind of nice to hang out there every once in a while. The siren call of the internet hadn’t deterred her from finishing the task of putting away her stuff, though.

Yes, there had still been _more_. Apparently, she hadn’t been the only one who had been haunted by the evil spirit of school. The Stilinski women had also included a useful array of school supplies. Two book straps, two slender pencil cases, one filled with pencils, erasers and ballpoint pens while the other sported colorful highlighters with index tabs. Babushka had also gotten her two four-subject wire bound notebooks to get her into organizing her school work. Babushka, just like her children, was a brilliant organizer.

As a wife and a mother of three, Stiles’ Babushka had had to keep tight track of everybody’s appointments and activities in order to impede total chaos. Her children had adopted her style of organizing their lives as they had grown into adults. Particularly her uncle, with him being self-employed, was still very fond of his mother’s teachings.

The paper planner that Stiles had taken out of an envelope had made her smile with an air of sadness. The Plum Paper Planner for Students, as the tag had read, was not the first one that she had ever received. Jelena had already tried the planner route once a couple of years back and it hadn’t been crowned with success. Of course, at first, Stiles had been all about the planner but after a month or so? The planner had ended in a corner of her room, lost to the world.

The World of Warcraft.

That game had been so much more entertaining than writing down her period, those activities had been entire dimensions apart. So this was her second attempt. 

The planner only featured four months, October till January when the first semester would end, with enough room to write down her lesson plan, birthdays, notes, contacts, important dates…her aunt had also sent something called _washi_ tape that was apparently meant for marking stuff like time left until a test, holidays, anything really. The four rolls of multi-colored brittle tape would probably never be put to use, yet Stiles had decided to keep them with the planner for now. There were also some pens exclusively for the planner because, as the note had explained, ‘ _they don’t seep through the pages_ ’.

Stiles leaned back against the wall and slowly allowed her lower body to slide to the floor. It had been a lot to take in to say the least. Yes, she had expected that her relatives would be willing to help her any way they could, but this? This was just _too_ _much_. Too much at once at least. Black Friday was just around the corner and Christmas wasn’t too far, either. The stuff she had gotten would last her for far longer than that. The stuff she had gotten wasn’t what she had wanted. She had asked for some basics, _some_ , not a complete new…everything.

Everybody just meant well however, it was just _too_ _much_. Too much to process, too much to deal with!

The girl shut her eyes and inhaled deeply, counted backwards from eight to one and released a shuddering breath. She repeated the action about five times before her pulse had settled enough and the stinging sensation in her eyes had vanished. To her left stood three more bags and the stupidest stuffed animal she had ever seen. It was a huge fat white unicorn with a blue mane and short dangly legs. It was the weirdest thing ever, thus, it actually made Stiles smile. That thing was so utterly blown out of proportion, how could one not love it? It was an obese unicorn!

Adonis absolutely hated it.

The moment she had taken it out of one of the boxes and held it tight - the instructions had said it was a Squishable, so yeah, Stiles had squished it for a little while - the dog had glared daggers into the newfound sworn enemy. Adonis might be a rather laid back dog nonetheless, sharing his humans’ attention - mainly the cuddles; it was all about the cuddles - with an inanimate stuffed _thing_ , however fabulous it was, would not happen on his watch. So Stiles would have to keep Skittles - yes, that was her name, shut up - safe for now. Once the Doberman was used to her and realized that she would not interfere with his snuggle time, things would most likely work out.

The remaining bags contained items that she planned on storing away in the bathroom seeing as they were _bathroomy_ items. Some skin and hair care products from The Body Shop and Lush, a bit of bubble bath - like she would _ever_ step willingly into a bathtub again! - and a bag from Sephora with a nice selection of nail polish, makeup and appending tools. Some sponges, a set of brushes, clippers, nail files, the likes. The eyelash curler was the item that scared her the most. It looked like someone could actually remove their eyeball with that thing!

In the past, Stiles attempts at putting on makeup had been futile and also pretty dangerous to certain degree. The teen remembered in particular that one time when she had tried to apply mascara and unfortunately had spasmed, thus, having stabbed the little black brush right into her eye. One of her more embarrassing trips to the hospital had ensued, she had to admit.

Her inexperience with makeup was not necessarily out of lack of interest in the matter, though. Who wouldn’t want to cover their blemishes after a weekend of gaming and greasy food? No, what had really kept Stiles from exploring the world of makeup had been her dad’s reaction the first time she had managed to put on a passable visage.

She had left with Scott for a movie, his mom had given them a ride, and when Stiles had said bye to her dad, he had had a strange look on his face. The girl hadn’t really expected him to comment on her makeup yet, the way he had looked at her had felt anything but right. Then, after she had returned from the movies, she had found her dad in the company of Mr. Jack Daniels. His head had rested on the table, having caused him to snore lightly. Pictures had been strewn all over the table. Pictures of her parents from when they had started dating. Her mother had always put on _war paint_ as she had called it. Eyeliner, mascara, lipstick, some balm to cover tiny chicken pox scars.

Stiles had taken one of the photos and regarded it carefully for the longest time. People had always told her how much she had resembled her mother in looks and behavior. Her extremely short hair had put an end to many of those comments, yet the longer Stiles had looked at the picture in her hand, the more she had realized that the reflection in the mirror hadn’t been her but that of the young woman in the picture.

That had been the last time she had ever put on makeup.

+++++++++++++++++++++

“What’s for dinner?” Stiles asked curiously as she descended the stairs. With each of her steps came a clinking noise from the bag she carried.

“Steak and baked potatoes with some roasted veggies.” Her uncle smiled widely. Her grandfather had added some shrink-wrapped meats to their shipment and her uncle had been so giddy upon having discovered _the precious_ that it was the only logical choice to be eating it tonight.

“Awesome.” Trotting over to the kitchen area, she put the bag onto the counter. “Want help with anything?”

“What’s in there?” Mik pointed at the bag before cutting up some more carrots.

“Alcohol that Oxana sent.”

When it came to alcohol, Stiles had the most amazing family guidelines in the history of guidelines ever. _EVER_. There was no doubt in her mind that if there was such a thing like an award for raising your children responsibly, her grandparents would so win it. Her grandparents’ rules regarding alcoholic beverages had always been simple.

_If you tell the children ‘no’, they’ll want it more._

_Forbidding them to drink means they’ll drink where we can’t see it._

_Drinking is okay, getting drunk means you’re busted_.

When Stiles had grown up, there had never been a sentence like ‘ _that’s not a drink for kids_ ’, thus, by the age of three she had known that coffee had been the most disgusting drink in the whole wide world. By age five, coffee had been reduced to the second most disgusting drink in the whole wide world because her grandfather had allowed her to take a sip of his rum. Her grandfather was born and raised in South Florida, the man liked his rum. Stiles hadn’t liked it that much - she had puked almost immediately and afterwards, the word ‘ _alcohol_ ’ had served as a charm to keep her away from anything remotely alcoholic till the age of fourteen.

Her Babushka had made Kvass and had offered her one with little alcohol. Normally, Stiles had only drunk the ones without any alcohol at all, but she had given it a try and it had tasted pretty good. Her father had adapted his parents’ rules to their own home. The bar had never been locked and Stiles had valued the trust her father had had in her. Also, by the age of fifteen she had known that a hangover was so not fun and that it if she ever dared to get drunk like that again, she would have been in for more than two weeks of being grounded.

The Stilinskis believed that in order to teach both children and teenagers the proper handling of liquor, a simple ‘ _no_ ’ didn’t cut it. And it wasn’t like they had a differing view on drinking just because of their Russian heritage. They just didn’t treat their kids like idiots. Stiles had usually been allowed to drink, if she had asked permission beforehand and even then, she had known that she had been permitted to do something that most other fourteen-year-olds weren’t, so she hadn’t gone overboard to prevent her chances at this from being jeopardized. Ever since her cousin had reached the legal age of drinking, she had occasionally sent Stiles a bottle of liquor which Stiles had shown to her dad and he had, of course, kept track on how fast the bottle would end up empty.

“What did you get?”

“I got,” the girl grabbed a bottle out of the bag before putting it right next to it on the counter, “one bottle of Nuvo sparkling liqueur”, produced a second bottle from the bag, “one bottle of Sutra blueberry liqueur, ooh, that looks interesting, another bottle of Sutra with strawberry flavor and finally”, she put the bag aside after taking the last bottle out, “Kraken rum. Although that might have been meant for you, I’m not so sure.”

“Why would Oxana send you that much liquor?” The man picked up the rum to read the labels. He had never seen it in his father’s collection.

“She didn’t send all at once, some is already a bit older but I never opened it. I’ll put it in the fridge, okay?”

“Alright, not the rum, though, just the girly soda fizz.”

“It’s not girly,” Stiles began to protest but upon taking another look at the three bottles, she withdrew her argument, “okay, you’re right, they’re girly soda fizz.” 

Having stowed the drinks away, she helped her uncle preparing their dinner. He wouldn’t let her anywhere near the meat, _his precious_ , so she handled the tricky task of filling Adonis’ Kong without making a mess. Halfway through, she considered writing a letter of complaint to the company that they should provide each customer buying one of their Kongs with some kind of funnel to fill those damn things nice and clean. Free of charge, of course.

“I should’ve really paid more attention at school,” she muttered under her breath, “there’s no way one can fill this thing up properly without some kind of degree.” 

“You just need some practice,” her uncle tried to encourage her, remembering the first time he had prepared his dog’s food like that. Strangely enough, it had taken the dog about as much time to realize what the rubbery thing had been as it had taken Mik to get it filled. It hadn’t been rocket science; however one should never shake their head at the intricacy of dog food science.

“As long as he doesn’t mind half of his dinner landing on the counter. You don’t mind starving, Adonis, do you?” The girl used her sweetest voice while talking to the Doberman, resulting in a doggy smile. If Adonis had any idea that they were discussing his dinner portion being cut, well, he would not be as relaxed right now. “Such a good puppy. Did you dress him, yet?”

Jelena was an evil genius, so when her little brother had told her how he had noticed that Adonis had at times shivered during their walks, she had gotten some clothes for the dog as well. Nothing really embarrassing, solid colors and warm fleece, still, for some reason her uncle refused to become ‘ _one of those people_ ’ even though everybody knew that Mik loved his dog and would eventually cave in. He had even put sunscreen on him in the past, for crying out loud. Adonis was used to the southern Florida climate and Beacon Hills was a huge difference to that. Stiles already pictured the Dobie in one of the hoodies - _hoodies, gah_ \- they had received.

“I’m not going to dress my dog”, the man gave her a stern look. “He’s got fur. He’s fine,” the ‘ _for now_ ’ that he murmured was still audible and made Stiles smile. 

“The girls also sent me some stuff for school.” Stiles said out of the blue to change from the topic her uncle was clearly uncomfortable with. “A lot of stuff, actually. And I’m getting a bit bored sometimes, so maybe I should get back on track with schoolwork. I mean,” she shrugged and glared at the stupid spoon that was just a _tiny_ bit too wide for the opening of the Kong, “I don’t want to go back yet, but I’m missing out on a lot, so perhaps I could, like, make some calls and catch up with everything, you know?”

“Yeah, no, you don’t have to worry about it. I already handled that.” The first steak hit the pan with a sizzling noise. “I e-mailed and called the school and they were really supportive. I had them sent everything to me, and the other day, I got your stuff from your locker. It’s all waiting for you in the office. Just have a look at it, if you feel like it.”

For a moment, Stiles paused putting the mixture into the Kong, just looking at her uncle until he took notice. Then, she stepped forward and hugged him tight. 

“Thank you for taking such good care of me,” the brunette mumbled into his strong shoulder.

Mikhail returned the embrace and pressed a kissed on top of the girl’s head. And since Adonis was their only witness, he wouldn’t have to deny that he tears up a little. 


	7. Oct 13th, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving on with the story...woohoo!
> 
> Also, bookmarkers, I see you <3
> 
> And I really don't like Agent McCall.

Stiles sighed out of boredom and settled herself deeper into the uncomfortable chair that squeaked when she shifted her weight. The shrill noise echoed along the empty white walls of the deserted hallway. Adonis grumbled before readjusting his head on her right upper thigh, leaning into the scratches along the back of his head. He was way past his midmorning naptime hence the grumpiness. They had been waiting out here for what felt like an eternity while her uncle was questioned by the FBI. She would be up for an interro… _questioning_ by the _lovely_ Agent McCall as well once her uncle was done.

The girl was about to rub her eyes when she remembered that she had applied mascara that morning, so she focused on her nails instead. The layer of clear polish reflected the artificial light coming from the neon lamps mounted to the ceiling.

The evening after she had put away all the stuff from the bags, she had skyped her aunt and cousin in order to thank them for their trouble. What she had originally intended to be a fifteen minute conversation, since the day had been rather strenuous for her, had turned into an hour-long talk about fashion and makeup. Not necessarily Stiles’ forte. The decorative cosmetics from Sephora had had her particularly confused. Face primer, eye primer, highlighter, bronzer, concealer, BB cream, CC cream, blush, powder…not to mention all the tools they had gotten for her as well. The Ergo Buffer for her nails had been the only tool remotely self-explanatory due to the directions having been written on the packaging, anything else would have required an extensive YouTube research on makeup tutorials. Stiles would never mock anybody who was checking out how to’s to improve their skill, cross her heart!

So subsequent to a lengthy illustration on how to use her products, Stiles had actually made her first attempt at putting on makeup... and had gotten so flustered when nothing had worked out the way her aunt and cousin had described that she had ended with an angry reddish face once she had violently scrubbed of all the product from her skin. Afterwards, she had felt stupid for getting upset about something as insignificant as makeup and had nearly squished the stuffing out of Skittles.

Oxana had suggested that every time she had messed up her makeup, she had had to remove all of it and had to do it all over again, that would have been the fastest way of learning. Instead, she had settled on her bed, started her iPad and looked up some of the blogs Oxana and Jelena had recommended for her to check out.

This morning, she had forgotten to set her alarm and her uncle had woken her just in time to get ready for their appointment with the FBI. The letter had arrived earlier this week. Of course, they had to be officially questioned because nothing that Stiles had offered Agent McCall so far had given any insight on the happenings in Beacon Hills. Not that she was planning on revealing anything today, yet for some reason even Agent McCall was aware of the fact that none of the _testimonies_ he had forced out of the teenager could ever be mentioned in the files. The FBI was kind of strict about documenting illegal interrogations.

Luckily for her, the FBI had rented some office space near the station, thus Stiles didn’t have to go to the place where she had spent almost as much time growing up as she had at home. The station was pretty much her second home…well, it had been. She didn’t really see any reason as to why she would feel the need to go there again. Everything about that place would just remind her of her dad and his absence anyway.

The newly acquired offices were still close enough to the station, yet it spoke volumes that the FBI even considered the need for their own space. Stiles had read bits and pieces of newspaper articles online. Apparently, there were no new leads in the current investigation even though the articles had noted that after the night of the storm, no more people had been reported as missing. There had even been a few having featured pictures of her dad which Stiles had instantly closed.

She took a deep breath as a shudder ran through her body. Before they had arrived at the building, her uncle had received a call from a deputy - somebody new, Stiles hadn’t been familiar with the name - having warned them about some media people near the front entrance, hence, they had entered the building from the back. Remembering the agony those reporters had caused Allison when her family had been in mourning for her aunt Kate - even though she had been an evil bitch - was definitely not on the list of things Stiles was looking forward to. She briefly wondered how her dad had dealt with aggressive journalists literally camping outside the station whenever there had been a newsworthy story to be exploited. He had once compared them to vultures, feeding of the work of others, and perhaps, he hadn’t been so wrong back then. Stiles didn’t feel like sharing anything with those strangers, let alone the public.

Although it would be nice to reveal to the media that, no, Stiles was not her given name and that, no, she wasn’t actually a boy. There had been a bit of confusion in some of the articles about her gender. Non-quality research at its best. If they somehow managed to get her picture though, she wouldn’t look so bad. The makeup was still not her bestie, but the fewer products she used, the better she got at applying the creams and powders.

This morning after showering, she had used her brand new Clarisonic MIA - which was totally awesome, yet _way_ too expensive and she would so get people amazing gifts for Christmas this year and the next four years - with a cleanser on her face, then she had applied her BB cream with this little sponge egg thingy, put on a bit of nude eye shadow and mascara. What had surprised her was that the girls had miraculously found a tone that matched her skin color - ingrain wallpaper white.

The clothes she had chosen from her wardrobe were simple: clean dark grey jeans, a chocolate brown belt, a black singlet, a dark blue henley whose sleeves she had rolled up to her elbows, the dark brown pair of boots and the dark green safari jacket. She hadn’t seen the need for a bag given the fact that she only carried her wallet with her. Her new iPhone 5 - with magic engraving that would keep it from being broken and/or being lost; she was dead set on grilling her uncle about that soon enough - was on her desk at the new house. She was still not used to all of the new stuff she had recently gotten, mostly because said stuff was r _eally nice_.

_Really nice_ in an ‘ _it would be really nice, if I could pull that off’_ kind of way. Stiles just wasn’t like that. The clothes didn’t look like her, didn’t feel like her but then again, the girl was pretty clueless how she was supposed to be feeling right now anyway. Dr. Meyers had told her that getting lost was actually a good thing as long as one didn’t give up searching. Searching for what, though? The teenager didn’t even know where to star or what to look for.

Sighing, she cast a glance at her hands. Her bony hands. When she had tried on one of the new jeans, she had noticed how they didn’t fit her right although they had been a size six, her regular size. The aftermath of her endeavors prior to her father’s departure was rather visible. Stiles had always been lanky, 129 pounds of pale skin and fragile bones. The scales had enlightened her that she was currently only 109 pounds of pale skin and fragile bones. A new all time low. Dumbstruck, she had addressed the issue towards her uncle and they had agreed on an appointment with a nutritionist. That had been Stiles’ first entry in her new planner, oh what a happy event it was!

Adonis grunted against her thigh. If she were to move her legs aside right now, Stiles mused, the dog would probably topple over given his semisomnolent state. God, she was tired, too and she wanted to rub her eyes so bad! She had never noticed how much she touched her face to be honest. How did Lydia and Allison do it?

The door to the conference room opened and she saw her uncle stepping into the hallway, a mixture of exhaustion and annoyance marring his features. Adonis didn’t even bother to lift so much as an eyelid before snuggling closer into his cousin’s leg.

“That man is an asshole,” Mik used Russian to vent his anger, “a complete asshole. There’s no other word to describe him. How someone like that could ever get into a position like that is beyond me. Even his co-workers can’t stand him.”

“Yeah, well, why do you think Melissa kicked him out? Scott hates being around him, too.” Stiles had stopped petting the Doberman and sent her uncle a pleading look. “Do I really have to do this?”

“Unfortunately, yeah,” the man put his arm around her shoulders to pull her closer in a comforting half embrace, “just remember that Anthony is in there, too. If you’re not sure about answering a question, you don’t have to. Also, if you feel like pissing the asshole off, be my guest.”

Stiles sniggered at her uncle’s antics. There was just no common ground with Agent McCall and the Stilinskis.

“Miss Stilinski,” a sharply dressed woman, Agent Devons, stood in the doorway, “we’re all set in here.”

“Okay.” Stiles nodded and rose from the chair. Adonis protested at the loss of his pillow before he went to follow her drowsily. He probably thought that they would be going home now, but Mikhail pulled him gently by his collar.

“Nah, we’re not leaving,” he told the dog, “Zdzi just has to go into that room for a few minutes. She’ll be right back while we wait out here, alright?”

Adonis blinked a couple of times, then, he yawned and lay down on the floor at his boss’ feet. Her uncle gave her another reassuring smile and the girl swallowed - she might not want to see Agent McCall and to hear his stupid questions, but what other choice did she have? It wouldn’t take long, she would be right back.

She heard how Agent Devons closed the door behind her back. Stiles had been mildly surprised when, upon their arrival earlier, they had been introduced to Agent Devons and one Deputy Parrish who was still new to the force in Beacon Hills. Of course, the FBI had to include the local police to some degree to maintain the image of working together _oh so closely_. She had tried to ignore the handsome young man as best as she could since his uniform had been too reminiscent of her dad. That way, she hadn’t noticed the brief yet stern glare his uncle had send his way.

Trying not to pay anybody too much attention now as she sat down next to her uncle’s lawyer - and how Agent McCall had hated them for bringing a lawyer! - she bit her lips nervously, scraping off some of the chapstick. Them staring at her didn’t help dissolving her anxiety.

Agent Devons cleared her throat and began reading out all the technicalities Stiles had already been familiar with. She was…had been the Sheriff’s daughter after all. If there was one thing she knew then it was the dos and don’ts during an interr… _questioning_. Obviously, the younger agent was there to assist Agent McCall being the lead agent in this investigation. Devons sat to McCall’s left, right across from Stiles, whereas the young deputy sat to McCall’s right. All of them had papers and folders placed in front of them. Parrish was taking notes as was Anthony to Stiles’ left. The girl was glad that her uncle had brought a lawyer; it made her feel more secure given her experience with Agent McCall and his interr… _questioning_ techniques. Stiles refused to acknowledge them as skills.

Once all the basics had been covered, McCall opened a slim paper folder, sorted through some papers and sent her a fake smile.

Stiles squared her jaw.

_Bring it asshole. I ran with wolves, I know how to tell truths without telling the truth_.

“Your father was last seen alive on September 22nd,” he pretended to read the question, as though he wasn’t able to recollect the information from his memory, “where were you on the night of your father’s disappearance?"

“I was at school. There was a memorial concert for the murdered students and teachers, remember?” It wasn’t a lie, just two true facts combined to suit her needs.

Agent McCall didn’t seem satisfied with her answer. There was an evident layer of disbelief when he asked whether or not anybody had seen her.

“I arrived a little late. The concert had already begun so I squeezed in through a side entrance. Both Allison and her dad, sorry, Allison Argent, well, they were both there, too. Isaac Lahey was with them.”

“For how long were you at the concert? Did anybody else see you?” The man still wasn’t satisfied, digging deeper and further. He had to be careful, though. They had an audience now so he ought to keep his attempt at intimidating a teenage girl in check. Stiles had to fight the urge to grin at his discomfort.

“I didn’t check my phone for the time,” the brunette shrugged nonchalantly, “but, like most other people, I tried to get out when the stampede started. That was pure madness.”

“Did anybody see you leaving?”

“With the amount of chaos going on around us? Somebody was killed on stage with piano strings. I highly doubt that even if somebody saw me, they would've taken the time to really recognize me. Everybody just wanted to get the hell out of there.”

McCall seemed to realize that he wasn’t getting anywhere with this lineup of questions. An angry frown settled on his forehead before he moved on to the next topic. “Why didn’t you report your father as missing?”

Deputy Parrish perked up at that a look of compassion in his eyes, but he refrained from commenting.

“Because I was scared,” Stiles wrung her fingers nervously as she shoved them between her knees to hide her emotions. Now was not the time for an emotional breakdown. She blinked a couple of times. Something about the lighting in this room set her off. “Everybody that went missing in the past couple of weeks turned up dead later on. I didn’t want that for my dad. I thought that, maybe, he had gone after a new clue without telling anybody. Beacon Hills’ police is kind of understaffed, you know?”

Parrish’s barely concealed snort rang through the room. Agent Devons had paused with taking notes, letting the words sink in. McCall looked like he wanted to pursue, however he scribbled something on one of the papers in front of him, harsh pointed letters, and continued, obviously unaffected by the direness of the situation.

“You were at school the following day while some of your friends weren’t. Care to explain to me what they had been up to?”

_Oh, for the love of…_

“Yes, I was at school the next day because that’s when you ambushed me into an interrogation, remember?” Stiles glared at the dark haired man. How dare he? He had no right to ask these questions again! Her heartbeat sped up slightly as anger ran through her. Little dots of light appeared in her peripheral vision. Stupid neon lights!

“What was that?" Anthony regarded her curiously. Of course, he was intending to defend his client if necessary. Devons and Parrish were also slightly disconcerted at the idea of the lead agent acting irresponsibly.

“The day after the concert, I was at school,” Stiles said quickly before McCall could cut her off, “I couldn’t just stay at home knowing that Dad was…gone…I just wanted things to be normal. Agent McCall was at school, asking people questions, when he spotted me. He said that he had to talk to me, that it was important and that I should follow so we could speak in private.”

“Abuse of authority, Agent McCall?”

McCall had some difficulty in controlling his seething. Abuse of authority wasn’t like being caught with your hand in a cookie jar. Abuse of authority was serious and nobody liked a tramp stamp such as this in their dossiers.

“I didn’t force her to do anything,” the man put on another fake smile, “it just struck me as strange that Stiles always seemed to be around whenever something weird happened, so I wanted to investigate properly.”

“My testimonies as to why I was _always around whenever something weird happened_ ,” and, yes, she used the most sarcastic air quotes for that, “are deposited at the station. You’ve worked there long enough and they didn’t redecorate in, like, forever, so why didn’t you check the archives? I’m not really keen on reliving the memory of finding dead bodies. I’ve got enough to deal with as it is. You knew that my dad was missing and you knew that I was emotionally upset and you took advantage of that!” No, she was not going to burst out in tears right now, she was not! The sheer audacity this man displayed! Stiles heard a low bark coming from the other side of the door. She might have raised her voice a little when accusing the FBI Agent in charge of abusing his authority, who cared?

Anthony was furiously typing away on his laptop, while Agent Devons cast her superior agent a sideways glare. The young woman obviously didn’t agree with his methods.

“Agent McCall,” the lawyer’s voice was calm, “I suggest we move on with the questions. You can expect some consequences for your inappropriate behavior, though. And before you say anything,” he raised his hand to stop the outburst the other man was evidently about to released “remember to respect my client’s rights. Given this development, she doesn’t need to be sitting here right now. I also suggest you refrain from posing question you already asked in less _official_ situations.”

Stiles loved her uncle’s lawyer. She now got an idea why her dad had hated dealing with them so much! Agent McCall bit his lips irately, yet even he was able to understand when to drop the ball. He used his ballpoint pen to scratch out some notes in his papers. To disrupt the silence, Agent Devons picked up the conversation.

“Lydia Martin was attacked that night,” she had a soft midwestern accent lacing her words, “did she mention anything about that? Or did anybody at school talk about what happened?”

“Everybody was talking about it except Lydia,” Stiles shrugged, “she wasn’t afraid to show it, you know? The bruises on her neck? But she didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t pester her, I mean, somebody was strangling her and not just in a _Shades of Grey_ kind of way but in an _I want you dead_ kind of way. That ought to be pretty disturbing, right?” Again, the girl had tiny spots of lights dancing in her vision and blinked rapidly to get rid of them. Even shaking her head didn’t help but merely blurred her entire vision for a second or two.

“Is everything alright?” Deputy Parrish had ostensibly taken notice of her actions. His look of concern seemed genuine enough. The guy was like a real life version of Steve Rogers.

“Peachy,” her breathing was raspy, she felt detached from her surroundings. This was not supposed to happen! She couldn’t afford a panic attack right now, not in front of Agent Douchebag. Even if she closed her eyes, the bright spots still fluttered in and out of her peripheral vision, connected with each other, grew in size. This hadn’t happened before, this had never happened before. This was wrong and Stiles had no idea how to deal with it. She knew that she had to take deep and steady breaths, yet sucking in the air through clenched teeth was sort of counterproductive.

When had she even started to clench her teeth together? The pressure on her jaws put a strain on her facial muscles, rippling down her neck. Stiles registered her hands vellicating. Her eyes stung with fresh tears. She couldn’t talk while millions of words flooded her mind all at once. The world around her was fading. Voices couldn’t compare to the increasing volume of her heartbeat resonating through her ears into her skull.

She was being moved. Somebody was moving her. At least she felt like it. Everything was spinning, Stiles couldn’t focus on anything. Her muscles twitched violently, yet there was something holding her in place.

_Uncle_ , her mind brayed.

Flashes of light brought images in front of her inner eye. Stiles jerked once more violently against her restraints. She saw the Nemeton emerging from the lacrosse field, parting the earth to accommodate its size. The squelching sound of wet earth and the stench of rotten wood made Stiles gag until the flood lights illuminated the entire space. Their glazing brightness consumed everything, turning the field into a void space of white. Just white. Stiles jerked again as a shadow stood out against the surroundings. It walked towards her slowly, seemingly pushing against an invisible wall as though trying to get through. Then, a piercing scream broke the image and all of the sudden, Stiles was under water again.

Surrounded by ice and mistletoe.

The light faded from her vision as darkness assailed her.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Mikhail was rummaging through their kitchen in search of dinner ingredients. Zdzi was with Will up in her room right now, the therapist’s perfect timing was a true blessing.

After Agent Devons had called him into the small conference room, stating that his niece had had some kind of panic attack, he had immediately stormed past the woman to get to the girl. She had been shivering and unable to focus on anything, so he had gently pushed her chair away from the table, away from the people and had merely proceeded to hold her tight by her upper arms to prevent her from injuring herself during her trashing. He had talked to her soothingly through her attack, trying to get through to her to no avail.

Adonis had whined pitifully at his side, distraught by the enemy he had not been able to see. Eventually, Zdzisława had fainted from the stress and they had left for home shortly afterwards. He had trusted Anthony to handle the legal formalities since his niece was way more important than some FBI investigation that would only come to naught anyway, seeing as the murderer was already dead and had been a supernatural being. It was unfortunate to think that a case as gruesome as this would remain unsolved by the authorities, yet the world wasn’t ready for the truth.

When they had arrived at home, Zdzi still fast asleep, he had carried her over to the couch, removed her shoes, draped a blanket over her and prepared some coffee for himself. Upon his return he had been greeted by the sight of Adonis curled up right next to his cousin. Mik had considered taking a picture, however he had decided against it. This morning had definitely been too intense, so it had been no wonder that the teen had slept throughout lunch.

Will had had impeccable timing as always. He had arrived this afternoon, a little while after his niece had woken up and gone straight to her room to change her clothes. Mikhail had had a nagging feeling all day long about the girl’s panic attack. Something hadn’t been right about that at all, yet he couldn’t point out what it was exactly that had him on alert. So far, she hadn’t talked about it and he wouldn’t push her, still… the doorbell rang.

A frown crossed over his forehead. He didn’t expect anybody.

When he opened the front door, he saw _Deputy Parrish_ standing on the doorstep. Immediately, his mood darkened. He stepped outside, pulling the door close behind him until it was only slightly ajar.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, leveling _Parrish_ with a look of pure accusation.

“I wanted to check up on…”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Mik cut him off, causing the younger man to shuffle uncomfortably under his glare. “You stay away from her. Who sent you anyway?”

“Nobody sent me,” he smacked his lips together. “I just transferred. It was about time I left and started somewhere else.”

“And you decided to come here? You’re not supposed to be here. Do They have any idea what you’re doing here?” Mik couldn’t believe the boy’s foolishness. No one simply transferred like that, especially not in a situation like theirs. “I’m not going to vouch for you once They get wind of this.”

“And I’m not expecting you to. It’s going to be fine, trust me.” The deputy sighed in frustration. He should have known better. “I know what I’m doing, besides judging after what happened today, you could really need some help out here, whether you like it or not. You can hardly tale care of her and fulfill your duties at the same time.”

“Don’t you dare telling me how to do my job,” Mik was seething at the kid’s audacity. “Zdzisława is _my duty_ right now and if They had wanted you here, they would have made the necessary arrangements.”

“But...”

“No but, _Nathaniel_ ,” the mentioning of his given name had the other man scowl faintly, “she’s not ready for this, not yet anyway and she’ll have my head once she figures it out. So you are going to stay away from her. She doesn’t need more drama in her life.”

“So no Sunday dinners, huh?” His attempt at humor was not received well.

“Oh you think this is funny now?” Mik’s words dripped heavily with sarcasm. “Wait until I tell your parents about this.” When he noticed the other’s slightly green look, he smiled dangerously. “You haven’t told them yet, have you?” He snorted. “Of course not, why would you? I suggest you tell them then, before I get the chance to do it. This is not the first time this has happened, Nathan; you need to learn that you can’t just leap head first into a situation and then rely on your pretty eyes to get you out of it. Now go.”

Nathan looked like he wanted to say something in his defense but instead, he nodded curtly and turned around, his shoulders hanging low as he returned to a motorcycle parked in front of the house.

Mik watched as the boy got on the bike and kicked it to life. He sighed.

_The kid and his stupid martyr-complex._

Zdzisława would be…he didn’t even want to think about that right now. The girl was his priority and if her idiot of a brother decided to show up out of nowhere because _he needed someone to help him out here_ , then so be it.

He was so screwed.


	8. Oct 18th, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while - writer's block and moving did not help my creativity. Although, the drabbles I did helped a lot.  
> I am grateful for those of you who still stick around for this story, since I know that my updating is...not what I imagined it to be and most likely not what you would like it to be, yet you are still here.
> 
> Thank you! You keep me going!

Stiles leaned heavily on the shopping cart to release some of the pressure on her feet caused by the two inch wedges.

_Training heels, my ass._

Ever since she had gotten her driver’s license and her own car, she had been in charge of grocery shopping. Well, to be honest, she had been in charge of the groceries they had shopped for much longer than that due to her dad’s dietary needs which he had refused to acknowledge. The sacred coming of age ritual of receiving her license though, had marked the period that should forever be known as ‘grocery shopping by herself without her dad arguing and/or sending her evil looks whenever she put a healthy item into the cart’. It had been a truly marvelous experience. To be free of judgment when she had taken brown rice from the shelf. Not to feel the need to vindicate her choice. To simply enjoy her shopping like the rest of the world - okay, much more like the people who hadn’t had to put up with anybody else while shopping like mothers and their spoilt brood or couples not being able to decide on anything together.

Over the past couple of days, she had been more willing to venture on little outings such as this. Frankly, she was getting quite bored staying at the new house all day long, although schoolwork had kept her busy. She had some catching up to do, that was for sure. Especially since her uncle had had the audacity to change some of her subjects. Stiles was still fuming about that and if she weren’t so occupied with _healing_ right now, he would have already gotten more than an earful. But at the moment, the girl didn’t have the emotional strength to pursue such an altercation of epic proportions, so she had settled on an intense accusing glare followed by dirty looks from afar whenever she did work for school while her uncle was in her immediate vicinity.

Groceries had been on her to do list ever since her appointment at the nutritionist’s. A few towns over, close to the Oregon border, a small clinic had specialized in nutritional and sports science. Strangely enough, a beauty farm was located right next to it. What a coincidence!

The amount of tests she had endured and the data they had collected had seemed rather degrading. To be poked and prodded had never been Stiles’ favorite part time, luckily though, no one had given her the ‘girls and their imaginative need to maintain a certain appearance in today’s fashion culture’ speech. That would have been the icing on the cake after nearly having a panic attack while having filled out the personal questionary and let’s not forget her having passed out during her cardiac stress test. Stiles had not needed stitches, yet there was a generous bump on her forehead that had now turned from an ominous shade of red into a disturbingly difficult to cover bluish purple. Concealer to the max! Stiles had winced every single time she had dabbed the sponge over the bruise.

The results hadn’t been unexpected. She was too thin, low on vitamins, iron and cholesterol were low but not dangerously so. Her weaning of the Adderall could have some more severe side effects and they needed to look out for any signs of those. Due to imminent risk of fainting - thanks for the reminder, as though living it hadn’t been embarrassing enough - Stiles should avoid overextending herself physically for the time being which meant that sports were a big no-no until her body would be able to sustain that type of stress again. Eventually, they had given her a diet plan for her to gain weight in a healthy way and made another appointment for next month. She hadn’t anticipated much else. They could only give her so much advice; the workload was all hers, though.

On their way back home, a rather long car ride which Stiles had used to fill her uncle in on her day - he and Adonis had spent the time in the neighboring woods exploring much to the dog’s delight - she had continuously run a hand through her hair. It had been so much longer than she had been used to. With a sigh, she had decided that, for the first time in over nine years, she would have to get a haircut. No more clippers and half inch long peach fuzz, but a real proper haircut.

So, this very morning, she - no, _they_ , since her uncle decided to tag along because both of them knew that she could not be left alone while she was still suffering from visions of the Nemeton and strange shadow people - had had an appointment at a salon. They had dropped off Adonis at a nearby dog parlor, although Stiles had been opposed to leaving the Doberman with strangers. Especially, when he had looked at her like the most injured little puppy in the world.

Her uncle had been less compassionate.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to bathe 80 pounds of dog that don’t want to be bathed? Playing in a puddle? Immediately. Jumping into a pond to retrieve a toy or a stick? No problem. But using water to cleanse him? The end of the world.” Mik had shaken his head in disbelief. “He’s their problem now. Let them get a workout, just remind me to tip them properly.”

Their own salon appointment had in some way been a new experience for Stiles. Of course, she had been to the hairdresser’s before, however she had still been a small child back then and there was a huge difference between a children’s salon and one for adults. The entire scenery had been different. No bright colors but a cool modern interior. An air of serenity and the scents of sprays, perfumes and nail polishes all mixed together. The salon had been more of a spa really, yet Stiles had not minded. She had been there to get her hair done, her uncle on the other hand…

Her uncle had opted for a facial and the services of a barber who had happened to have a chair at the salon. She might have to tell her aunt about this. It was perfect blackmail material!

Stiles had already taken a selfie right after her hairdresser - a really nice late twenties newlywed named Maneisha - had finished styling her new pixie cut to the tee and sent it to her female relatives. The girl had already known then that she would never be able to replicate this look. Maneisha had worked her hair magic and Stiles…she had not actually believed that the person in the mirror had been her. Of course, her cousin had sent her some beauty tutorials and one of them was named _The Goddess Within_ , yet for some reason, Stiles had not mustered up the courage to tell her mirror image that she was a pure beauty, filled with divine luminescence and that there was crown on her head that no one but her could see.

She had tried. She hadn’t been able to do it. She had felt too stupid to be honest.

The girl in the mirror at the salon, though? Perhaps that girl might be able to do it.

After having left the salon, they had picked up a freshly groomed Adonis, who had practically bounded towards them when they had picked him up and Stiles had scratched him vigorously as though they had been separated for more than just a few hours. Her uncle’s tip had been generous and Adonis was allowed to return. He was not a particularly difficult dog after all, he just despised baths. A lot.

The decision to go grocery shopping had been rather spontaneous on her uncle’s behalf and at first, Stiles had been reluctant to leave the car as they had parked. Staying with Adonis hadn’t seemed like such a bad idea, mainly since she had not been exposed to the public this long in a while. Also, she had been scared of running into someone who would know her or want to talk about her dad.

Mik had not coaxed her, but given her a moment to make up her mind. If she really had not wanted to come, he would not have made her leave the safety of her car and Adonis’ protection.

Eventually, the teen had descended the car and the familiarity of the store had strangely enough had a soothing effect on her. Stiles knew these aisles, knew all the products they contained and the simple act of grocery shopping seemed so…normal. And within normalcy, there lay comfort. She could definitely do with that for now.

Ever since the dreadful questioning with the FBI, the visions she encountered during her panic attack would not leave her alone. She was not experiencing nightmares, at least not like she used to, those images popping into her head at random times were more ephemeral. They did not stay with her after they had passed her inner eye. Of course, given the fact that she was seeing the same pictures over and over again, she was by now able to recollect the overall scenery and even some details.

By now, Stiles no longer believed that they were nightmares, rather some deeply disturbing pictures scrambled together from pieces of her memory into a collage. She did not wake up sweating or screaming. They were like a wave, washing over her, engulfing her, however no one knew why. Her therapist had reasoned that these visions might be stress induced, which sounded logical and therefore believable, nonetheless…the girl could not shake the feeling off that there was more to it.

Also, her uncle had taken notes carefully whenever she had talked to him about the flickering bits crossing her mind. He had looked thoughtful as though he had been aware of something that had been oblivious to her. She might have to corner him about that sometime soon. For now, though, she would focus in the task at hand. Yogurt.

“Is Adonis allowed to have Greek yogurt?” Her question caused her uncle to halt in his steps, looking at her incredulously.

“I don’t think he’s ever had any,” the man admitted thoughtfully, walking towards her to examine the plastic container.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Their shopping trip had ended almost in tears - of all the things to trigger another episode, it had to be ice cream. Stiles still felt utterly ridiculous at nearly crying because of a new Ben & Jerry’s flavor that she had not been informed about.

Ice cream, ladies and gentlemen. Stupid, unimportant ice cream had reminded her of how much she had been missing out, how life was going on without her, how she was doing nothing but sitting around inside the house _healing_ , whatever that even meant, and she was such a wreck that something as insignificant as ice cream would cause her to freak out.

Well, almost freak out. Stiles had taken Dr. Meyers’ advice to heart and worked on her way of dealing with conflicting emotions. He had told her neither to fear them nor to accept them. She was supposed to experience them without letting them affect her. To just endure them while they last, to relax because fighting them was apparently not the way to go and to analyze them once they were gone. She had taken to writing down trigger moments and their consequences. Her vivid dreams/visions/images were a frequent consequence impartial of her overall emotional state.

So, Stiles had merely breathed through her anxiety, focused on the pain those dreaded wedge super cute ankle boots caused her feet and eventually, the flood had faded into nothingness without her making a scene in public. Congratulations!

Her uncle had noticed of course, how could he not? He had gotten used to her emotional states over the past couple of weeks and he had adapted his behavior accordingly. In a way, Stiles did not want to be that much of a bother, in another, she was uber grateful to have someone in her life who was willing to support her like that without complaint.

On their way home, they stopped at a Korean place. They tried not to think too much about the fact that the owners allowed dogs inside. Adonis was just happy enough to join his humans for dinner in a new place with lots to see. He even got his own water bowl and while they waited for their food, two kids from the table next to theirs asked, if they could pet ‘the big doggy’.

While Adonis was usually wary of strangers, women and especially children still tended to be easier for him to deal with than men. Children were probably less threatening to him because of their size. Also, Stiles had spent the summer after her uncle had gotten Adonis from the shelter in Florida with her grandparents and her uncle had used that to his full advantage. He had encouraged her to feed him treats and to pet him and praise him whenever they had been together. By the end of the summer, Adonis had been convinced that his cousin had been a walking treat and petting machine and they had become best friends. It was hard to tell what his former owners had been like. Perhaps they had not been all that nice. They had cropped his ears after all and the short stump of a tail…Stiles had cried horribly when she had found out that the Doberman had not lost his appendage in a terrible accident. To this day, she could not fathom why people would injure their animals for looks.

Adonis would never growl or snap at a non-threatening stranger, but when petted by them, his posture would go rigid and he would simply sit there, hoping for it to be over soon. If her uncle noticed his discomfort, he would normally tell the other person to stop or permit the dog to occupy himself otherwise. The kids were very gentle, though and giggled because of the ‘good doggy’. As their parents called them back to eat their meal, a conversation about getting a ‘big doggy’ ensued. Stiles smiled, reminiscent of all the times she had tried to convince her parents to get a dog.

When their food arrived, Stiles gaped at her plate. The waitress had obviously taken pity on her weight issues - yes, it was still _that_ obvious - and had decided to pretty much double her portion without charging them extra. The teenage girl was not able to finish her meal, but asked to take the leftovers home. She could get a whole ‘nother meal out of those leftovers.

+++++++++++++++++++++

The orange colored digital figures of her alarm revealed that it was just past 10pm. Stiles had already gotten to bed about an hour ago. Her bedtime routine had begun to even out again, with her staying awake for longer periods of time, going to bed later although still not as late as she used to and getting up earlier in the morning. Her uncle tended to wake her up for breakfast nowadays and introducing such simple normal acts into her daily routine was definitely helpful for her sleeping routine. She was still trying to determine what a normal sleep schedule should look like for her, but according to her nutritionist, she should try different intervals of sleep. Like: sleep for eight hours and see how you feel, sleep for seven and a half hours and see how you feel. Take notes. It was basically self-quantifying in order to help her understand her body better.

Her uncle was not a huge fan of the idea. He had pointed out that he would only tolerate this self-examination for the time being. After all, as he had said, this was about his niece recovering and not obsessively stressing over documenting her every breath.

Adonis was already snuggled up against her thighs, curled up like an overcooked shrimp, half-covered by her comforter and snoring lightly. For such a big dog, he could make himself appear tiny. Stiles briefly wondered if she was ever going to be able to fall asleep now that she had gotten so used to his presence, his sounds and his scent. She had sort of expected him to return to his sorry excuse of a bed - that uncle had wanted to replace for the longest time, yet the dog had been reluctant to accept anything else but _his_ place - however, Adonis would not pass up the treat of a human bed. Her uncle was very strict about dogs on the furniture. Adonis was not allowed in his boss’ bed and he could only hop onto the couch if he had been given permission.

The reason for her inability to fall asleep was not her lack of exhaustion. The day had been long and stressful for her. Leaving the house, talking to people, being exposed…it would take time for her to regard those activities as ordinary again. No, the reason for her vigil was entirely off-key. It had not even occurred to her until she had been lying in bed with Adonis having huffed and puffed in his search for the perfect sleeping position.

Halloween was upon them.

They were already halfway through October and it was not even a fortnight until All Hallows Eve would bring forth monsters, ghosts and ghouls.

How could she have not been triggered by the standees at the grocery store? She had merely walked past them without even taking notice. For two reasons, it was made even worse. The first one was the fact that Halloween had been like one of her favorite annual events. It totally deserved to be augmented to an official holiday. But the second reason made her stomach churn and her heart pump tears into her eyes: it was her uncle’s favorite day of the year. He loved Halloween, he breathed Halloween, he lived Halloween! For as long as she could remember, her uncle had been the Grim Reaper, scaring people in good fun, taking part in the festivities, preparing meticulously for the 31st of October.

But as of now, he was not. There were no decorations around the house, nothing. Not even one single pumpkin. No scary movies. No gravestones in their front yard, no blood covering their floor, no claw marks on the walls…just a plain old house.

She hated knowing that he was abstaining from his most beloved celebration of the year, besides maybe his birthday, just because of her mental state. There was no other explanation. At least not for Stiles. She got angry at the idea of people bending over backwards for her. They should not have to, yet they did it anyway.

Perhaps, she should talk to her uncle about it. Tell him that she wanted to have at least a little bit of Halloween around the house, a little bit of normality. Also, Halloween meant some of the best candy all year round. Only Christmas could outdo Halloween candy-wise. Maybe they could even get some Peeps for the trick-or-treaters. Rations while hunting for candy were not to be underestimated.

Turning around, the girl smiled into the darkness of her room.

Normality sounded like a good plan and if candy could get her there, she would not argue.


	9. Oct 22nd, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another one done, and another one done, another one that is done...
> 
> I have to tell you, I am SO grateful for over a thousand hits on this story already. 27 Kudos, thank you for showing me that you enjoyed reading it, 3 comments, thank you for letting me know what you think about it, 4 bookmarks on the story and 5 on the series, as well as 19 subscribers for the story. This is amazing and it encourages me to continue this story, even though it is difficult at times and I'd rather go off and write some drabbles because with a story this long, I need to do so much planning ahead given certain details and characters and...but you make it worth my while.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter <3

Lydia combed her fingers through her hair a final time before straightening up and stepping onto the pathway leading towards the door to the current Stilinski household. With the memory of Scott vividly telling them how he had been held back by an invisible barrier, Lydia was pleased to notice that she could trespass without any problems.

She had to admit, the house was nice. Well-kept, well-proportioned, a rather nice neighborhood. It was definitely an upgrade from Stiles’ old home which had not been bad, per se, yet…Lydia had never really understood why the Stilinskis had not moved after Mrs. Stilinski’s death. Wouldn’t it have been easier to deal with the pain of this particular loss by distancing themselves from the very place where literally everything had been reminiscent of the woman’s presence or rather her absence? After her parents’ divorce had been settled, her father had moved to San Francisco and her mother had taken to redecorating the entire house. Of course, the Martin women had had no intention of moving, the house had always been and was still gorgeous after all, yet the need for change had been inalienable for both her mother’s and her own need for recovery.

The surface of the neatly arranged stone tiles felt slightly slick beneath the wooden heels of her ankle boots. It had rained the previous night and the soles had not yet developed enough grip not to cause any kind of problem on most surfaces. At least they did not squeak, though. Greenberg’s new shoes had squeaked with every single move he had made today - it had driven her nearly insane! How was she supposed to focus on school, when some idiots were disturbing her with poorly chosen footwear?

It also did not help with the distant buzzing noise she had been hearing for a few days now. In retrospect, the girl concluded that she probably should not have stayed too long at that party last Friday night - the music had been obnoxiously loud - however Beacon Hills only offered a teenager not so much else to do besides going either to the bowling alley or the movies. While she was able to relate to the charm a small town exuded, actually living it was an entirely different chapter in her life.

So, the text message she had received from Stiles on Sunday had been a completely unexpected, however most definitely welcomed surprise to her agenda. Of course, with both the Darach and Deucalion gone, Lydia was finally able to study and to socialize again which she highly appreciated, although…normality was still nowhere near her grasp.

Scott was currently unable to shift properly, Allison had confided to her that she was having visions of her deceased aunt, Isaac was obviously trying to get Allison’s attention without alerting Scott - _oh please!_ \- Derek and his brother had left Beacon Hills for only God knew where, Peter was awol as well - not that she cared- Ethan and Aiden only attended school sporadically and Kira? Kira had somehow joined their merry little band without having been invited and _no_ , Lydia was not just saying this because she felt there was something suspicious about the other girl. She had attached herself to their group like a shadow and it was so obvious that she was into Scott judging by the looks she sent him and apparently, her interest was reciprocated.

For some reason, well, actually _the_ reason that bothered Lydia the most, the Asian American had so far managed to always draw everybody else’s attention towards her whenever Stiles had been mentioned. It was ridiculous! During lunch period, Scott would mention how he wanted to visit Stiles and immediately, Kira would remind him that they had planned on studying that afternoon.

Isaac would wonder about another cross country meet that Coach had yelled at the team about and how they would do well, seeing as they were currently lacking one of their best female runners. Cue in Kira, who would be uber interested in the team and joining and asking all sorts of questions about school sports in general.

Allison would talk about how her father so far had not dug up any information about Stiles’ uncle and, of course, Kira would show up and put an end to their discussion before it had even begun. So far, everybody agreed to keep the new girl out of the supernatural loop, nonetheless, Lydia figured it was only a matter of time before somebody would go ‘ _she’s such a great friend, we can trust her_ ’.

Naturally, Lydia understood that it was not much fun if the people around you were talking about something or someone you had no idea about, still…it felt as though they were letting Stiles down and Stiles deserved better than that, especially since no one had heard from her over the past couple of weeks. Mr. Argent’s contacts had not been able to provide any information about Stiles’ uncle, therefore they ruled him out as a potential hunter. Also, the fact that the man slipped her a book about wailing women that had been sent to Lydia by another banshee showed that he could not be after the supernatural. Why would a banshee have enough faith in him to fulfill a task like that, if he were to be considered evil?

Lydia had spent entire nights reading that book, a beginner’s guide to being a banshee one might call it. She had absorbed all the facts and figures greedily and had even contacted the woman who had sent her the volume. Her name was Mary Campbell and she was definitely a banshee, a _sister_ , as she had referred to herself. The information seemed legit; Lydia had done an intense amount of research before having contacted the older woman to rule out that this had been a scheme to trap her. After encountering crazy werewolf hunters, it would have been inexcusable to blindly trust a stranger for pretending to be something they were not.

Obviously, she had not yet told anybody about this development given that a) her friends were pretty much wrapped up in their own personal predicaments b) Lydia was still unsure about the actual meaning of it and c) how was she supposed to talk about it when Kira was constantly around them? She had even latched herself onto hers and Allison’s outings, proclaiming ‘ _girls night_ ’. Besides, Lydia did not have to share everything with her friends as she had a strong aversion to people prying into her personal life. If Lydia Martin wanted to share something with another person, she would let them know. She was entitled to a little privacy after all.

Lydia fixed the collar of her button down shirt before ringing the doorbell.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Stiles flailed when the sound of the doorbell rang through the house. Her uncle had an appointment with a realtor to look at a few potential places for his smithy. Adonis had gone with him. For the first time in weeks, Stiles would be alone at the house for more than an hour. That in itself spoke volumes about the trust her uncle had in her constitution that he would leave her alone for this long. Of course, he knew that Lydia was coming over but he seemed oddly okay with that as well. Stiles had shrugged it off, thinking that he was probably glad that his niece was taking first steps back into the real world outside the house. Even if it meant to bring someone from the real world outside into the house.

Same difference.

To say that Stiles was nervous would be like saying Kim’s behind was actually rather small - _the_ understatement of the year. For the past hour, the girl had arranged and rearranged the books, drinks and snacks from the kitchen table to the living room area, back to the kitchen, to the big dining table, back to the living room area, before finally having settled on the kitchen table. It provided enough space for two people and their books, drinks and snacks. Stiles had chosen the snacks carefully: a few rye crackers with a yoghurt dip, walnuts, cashews, cherry tomatoes, baby carrots, green apple slices and little bits of dark chocolate were all placed within various bowls on a tray. She had already taken some drinks out of the fridge. Next to a few water bottles were two bottles of coconut water and three cans of diet Coke since she knew that Lydia liked the taste yet hated the calories.

Luckily, her flailing did not destroy any of her preparations and the girl swiftly walked towards the front door, rubbing the chain around her neck absentmindedly. She had taken to wearing some of her mother’s old jewelry because it seemed to give her a certain amount of comfort. At least, she had not seen the Nemeton growing inside of her room where her bed was supposed to be ever since she was wearing the pendant necklace and the silver ring. She was not keen on reliving that particular vivid dream.

When she opened the door, Lydia was shifting her weight from one leg to the other. The other girl’s hair was meticulously twisted into two braids encircling the sides of her head before joining into one long braid down her back. She wore a button down shirt beneath a taupe colored pullover, a short denim skirt and ankle boots that had to be killing her. Stiles could now talk from experience.

“Hey,” Stiles greeted her awkwardly, taking a step backwards to make room for her friend. Things were not supposed to be awkward between them, not after the stuff they had been through. However, they had not seen each other for about a month, so perhaps things were meant to be awkward.

“You are wearing makeup,” Lydia stated bluntly while entering the house, a thoughtful look on her face before giving her a once over, “and you are dressed like a normal person.”

“Thanks, Lydia.” Stiles replied dryly.

 _Awkwardness, meet Lydia Martin’s social skills_.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Lydia was surprised by the amount of work Stiles had been able to complete on her own without anybody’s guidance. Of course, as a subject to the American Education System, she was well aware of the fact that most schools either could or would only do so much to engage their students. If one was not willing to work for their grades, they would have to rely on the teacher liking them, otherwise, it was a slow ride on the mediocrity lane. Lydia had been an Honor Roll student since they had introduced grades to mark the students’ academic abilities. As she had learnt from her mother, it was all about self-discipline, motivation and planning ahead.

Given Stiles ADHD, though, Lydia had doubted that the girl would be able to proceed at such a rate. Stiles was not stupid, not by far, however her difficulty to focus on subjects for more than a certain amount of time appeared to be a definite hindrance. Although Lydia had to admit that depending on the subject at hand, Stiles could also develop a kind of hyper focus, _entering the zone_ so to speak, when she was incapable of concentrating on anything but her research.

During their study session, Stiles had so far not displayed any boredom by drifting off topic. She seemed a lot calmer than usual, too. Almost muted. Evidently, Lydia would not expect her to take lightly to the recent changes she had had to go through; nonetheless, it was weird to encounter this version of Stiles. It just reminded her of how much all of them might lose. Lydia did not like that particular thought.

“So,” the brunette took a sip from the bottle of coconut water, “what’s Mr. Curtis like?”

Stiles had been wondering about the new English teacher for some time. Every time she had sent her homework in via e-mail, he had taken the time to print it out, corrected some sentences and commented on entire paragraphs, scanned everything and sent it back to her. He was either way too motivated for the job, which probably meant that he was evil, or he did just not have a whole lot of other hobbies. While the latter was pretty sad, Stiles would always prefer it to the former.

“First time teaching job, a total step backwards in comparison to Ms. Blake, sans the Darach ordeal, of course. I cannot comprehend why they would hire anybody like that, but then again, the board does not really have much of a choice given Beacon Hills’ current reputation.”

Beacon Hills’ current reputation was bad. Stiles did not have to engulf herself with the media coverage on the latest events to understand that the happenings in their quiet little mountain town were a feast for the media. And if the town’s reputation was bad that would mean a bad reputation for pretty much anything else associated with it. Apparently, some idiots were now offering guided tours particularly designed for disaster tourists. A couple of esoteric groups had visited the city to determine the source of the negative energy which must have caused all the havoc. Naturally, they had not found anything, yet they had bristled at the police’s disinterest in working with them. Some of the reporters were still camping outside the police station to harvest as much information as they could. By now, people were simply annoyed to say the least.

“As long as he’s more into actually educating his students than sacrificing them to an ancient entity,” Stiles shrugged, shoving a rye cracker into her mouth, “perhaps he’ll grow with the job.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.” Lydia flipped a strand of hair over her shoulder.

Mr. Curtis had simply no leadership qualities. He might not lack the knowledge to convey but the ability to assert himself. AP English Language and Composition was slowly yet steadily spinning out of control. If Mr. Curtis did not work up the courage to establish himself, he would surely drown. Some people had already started a betting pool.

“How’s your mom handling her classes?” Stiles had been surprised to find out that Mrs. Martin had returned to the teaching word. She had always thought that the woman was more interested in developing theories than educating a bunch of idiotic teens. Things must be looking pretty bad, if someone of her caliber chose to teach again.

“She’s doing fine,” Lydia chewed on a walnut, “of course, she is. Although, this job is so not a challenge for her, despite teaching some guys how not to hit on a woman.”

“Oh God,” Stiles scrunched up her face, “who’s hitting on your mom? Not that your mom isn’t hittable, it’s just, eww. Is this going along the lines of when Greenberg said that he would like to be Ms. Blake’s pet? That was so disturbing.”

“Let’s just say that there are _a lot_ of apples available in our household right now.” Green expressive eyes rolled in annoyance. It was horribly embarrassing how some of her own classmates were attempting to get her mother’s attention.

“And how are you dealing with this? Do you have to call your mother Mrs. Martin, now?” The brunette had never envied children whose parents also happened to be their teachers. She remembered how Joselynn Colm’s mother had subbed for a couple of weeks while they had been in fifth grade. Calling her own daughter _muffin_ in front of everybody and making the poor girl have lunch with her in the classroom had been so not cool.

“It’s okay, I guess. At least she’s more than qualified for the job. She also used to teach at our school before the divorce, so it’s not really new to her and she knows how to handle the idiots.”

“Sounds like something to look forwards to, then.”

“So, you want to come back soon?” Lydia had wanted to breach this topic even before she had set foot into the house; however she had felt that she would have to wait for a convenient opportunity such as this.

“I’m working on it,” the other girl shrugged, “it’s difficult, though. I mean, I…I’m still kinda reluctant to leave the house, you know? I am aware that I cannot hide in here forever, but the thought of going back to school and being exposed to so many people and freaking out about it or…”

“Or what?” The banshee could see how Stiles was mulling something over in her head by the way her eyes were moving rapidly.

“I,” Stiles sighed exasperatedly. This was Lydia, why should she hide it from her? “I see things, sometimes. Like, things that are not really there, like visions or vivid dreams and when that happens, I zone out completely and if things go bad that might result in a panic attack.”

“What kind of things do you see?” Pushing her books gently aside, Lydia took another sip of her drink, her eyes focused on Stiles.

“The Nemeton, for once. I stand on the lacrosse field and all of the sudden, the earth gives way and the tree stump grows right out of it. Or I enter the room and, all of the sudden, it’s right there where my bed is supposed to be and for some reason, I know that something is wrong but I cannot tell what it is. It’s like, I see the remains of this tree in the middle of a room and I am not able to tell that that is the thing that doesn’t fit into the picture. It’s either that, or a shadow behind a screen and I have absolutely no idea what that is supposed to mean.”

“Allison sees things, too. She has dreams about Kate returning.”

“Oh God, that must be terrifying,” Stiles pressed her lips together, “that woman was nasty enough alive but having her haunt you in your dreams? Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“We think it’s because of the ritual. Scott has also trouble shifting. He just can’t get it to work somehow.”

“Deaton warned us about the darkness latching onto us. Perhaps it’s only a phase, though, something that we’ll eventually overcome. At least that’s what I’m hoping for,” sending Lydia a concerned look, Stiles wondered out loud, “how are you dealing with all of this?”

“I’m not the one that stepped into an ice bath, so, personally, I think I’m doing fine in comparison to everybody else. All I have to worry about are PSATS right now and even though I appreciate the board’s decision to demand a postponement that only means a delay by two weeks max.”

Stiles almost smiled at Lydia’s reaction. There was obviously something going on with the girl, yet she was not ready to reveal anything at this point. Instead, she chose to sway off topic with her semi-answer. Had they been having this conversation before her father’s passing, Stiles would have definitely pushed for a solid statement, nonetheless, she was currently not alerted by Lydia’s display of false wellbeing. There was no baddy on the horizon and, maybe, Lydia was just trying to figure out how to go about her daily business after the events of the past months. By now, they had come to a point where Stiles would actually trust her to open up about serious problems.

Knowing how much she hated people trying to pry personal information out of her, she would not blame Lydia for behaving the way she did. The redhead was just not ready, yet. Given time, she would be, though. Until then…

“Here,” Stiles removed the delicate silver ring from her index finger and handed it to the other girl, “my mom used to wear it. She said it was her good luck ring since she wore it the day she met my dad.”

“And you would give this to me because?” The surprise in Lydia’s tone was clearly audible.

“Because everybody can do with a bit of luck.” Stiles would not snoop, no, however she would be damned, if she did not let her friend know that, despite her current predicament… “I am still your first call, okay?”

Lydia regarded the glinting piece of metal in the palm of her hand. It was a rather simple design. A slight patina darkened the minuscule crevices caused by the rope inspired look. She could not understand how Stiles was willing to hand over something of her mother’s this easily. Stiles’ mother was a topic that had never been breached. Never. At the same time, it was nice to know that Stiles would still offer to be her first call after everything that had happened. It made her feel more secure for a reason she was not able to discern. It was _so_ Stiles to do something as stupidly selfless as this. Still… “You can’t just give this to me like that.” Lydia protested, already shoving the jewelry back at the other teen.

“It’s _your_ mother’s. _You_ wear it.”

“It’s alright, don’t worry.” Stiles stretched her forearms over the table, causing her shoulders to roll forward. They had been sitting at the table for a couple of hours now. “When we cleared out the old house, we also found a bunch of stuff that belonged to Mom. I always knew that it was somewhere around the house, but I never really bothered to ask since I was afraid that my dad would freak out, if I wore her old stuff. Well,” she shrugged, the simple motion casting unhealthy looking deep shadows alongside her collarbone, “I don’t really have to worry about that anymore and there’s a lot more than just this one ring. Here,” slowly hooking her fingers behind the necklace she wore, the girl lifted the chain appearing to be made from oxidized gold to reveal a pendant.

Two wings. One lay on top of the other. If it were not for the primary regimes, the wings would have formed a heart shape. It was no exceptional piece but it was pretty, nonetheless.

“Mom always wore it,” Stiles’ fingers trace the outlines of the metal, “she got it on her first day at school. Her mother told her that she was a big girl now, so she got to wear jewelry like the big girls. This is not the original chain, though. Mom had to replace it when it got too tight for her to wear it comfortably without choking herself. She actually had a scar on her neck where the chain had cut into her skin once.” She tucked the pendant back underneath her shirt. “So take the ring. Just for now at least. You can always return it to me. I don’t mind.”

Lydia was about to decline the offer again, when Stiles picked up on her hesitation.

“Just take the damn ring, Lydia.”

The redhead smiled graciously while pocketing the silver band. It was good to know that her friend’s fighting spirit was still there.


	10. Oct 27th, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One third of this story is finished! Woot!
> 
> Also, two more people subscribed (I don't know who you are, but thank you!) and Bashfyl, I hope you enjoy this update as well^^
> 
> ...and the next chapter is definitely Halloween...can't wait, ideas, let's hope I'll be finished before the weekend *fingers crossed*

Stiles was awake even before the radio of her wake-up light turned on.

Today was the day.

Today, she would go back to school.

She had figured that Friday would be perfect for returning since it would provide her enough time to actually recover from any ordeal bound to happen today. Well, at least that was what she was hoping for, the best case scenario so to speak. The worst case scenario was that she would have a total meltdown in public which would be beyond horrifying, but with the weekend ahead, it would give both onlookers and herself two whole days to get over any emotional episodes before Monday.

Her alarm clock already cast a warm glow into the room, while Stiles sat up in her bed, her pajamas’ top pooling loosely around her thin frame. Adonis noticed the change of her position and blinked lazily at the girl.

“Good morning,” she cooed at him, reached out to scratch him along the neck and chuckled when the dog scooted a bit closer to her, “today’s a big day, you know? I’ma go back to school.”

Adonis merely rumbled a doggy purr into the gentle caresses of her fingertips. He was about to fall asleep again.

“You can’t go back to sleep now,” Stiles chided him playfully, “we have to get up in about,” she turned to check the time on her alarm, “in less than ten minutes. And we really have to get up by then because I cannot be late on my first day.”

Ever the opportunist, the Doberman twisted around, thus his upper body was now lying on top of Stiles’ legs with his belly exposed.

Despite her eye roll at his audacity, she began to rub small circles over his chest anyway, returning the doggy smile she received with a smile of her own.

“You’re lucky that you’re so handsome.”

Grunting in agreement, Adonis wiggled higher up her lap in hopes of more affection.

This was how Mikhail found them about a quarter of an hour later. He was already wearing his running gear and had wanted to pick up the dog for their morning run as well as waking up his niece.

He knew that she was not in shape to join them yet, but with her nutrition slowly balancing out again, it would only be a matter of time.

“What are you doing?” His voiced was laced with a mixture of surprise and mirth. Adonis was lying halfway on his back on top of Zdzisława’s legs, whereas his niece was petting along his sides, his chest and his belly. Both pups looked very content to say the least.

“Morning cuddles.” The girl smiled brightly. “Very important for a good start into the day. Isn’t that right, Adonis?”

A yip was all the confirmation she needed.

“So?” The blond walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, right next to the dog’s hind legs. “Are you ready for your first day?”

“I guess,” Stiles shrugged, pondering the question.

Yesterday, she had packed everything she would need for today. She had packed her bag - the canvas tote - with everything she would need for today. Books, pencils, notebooks, folders and her organizer had all been neatly arranged into the bag before having been rearranged four more times. Her phone was charged. The clothes she would wear today had already been picked out yesterday with the help of her cousin Oxana via Skype. Stiles had even gone so far to apply a new nail polish. _Ballet slippers_ was currently decorating her nails. Nude polishes were so much easier to deal with than colored ones.

“You don’t have to…” her uncle started but Stiles cut him off.

“I know,” she looked at him, “but I really want to. Or, at least, try to. You should be glad about that by the way because once I go back to school on a regular basis, we’re going to have conversations about the many reasons why school is totally overrated and that nothing they could teach me would ever be able to prepare me for the real world anyway.”

“I always told your grandmother that I could help her so much more around the household, if I didn’t have to go to school,” they shared a short laugh, “but for some reason, she wouldn’t have any of that.”

Stiles slowly detangled herself from the covers and the dog whose protest turned into a wide yawn revealing sharp white teeth.

“Time to get up,” Mik told the animal with a quick jerk of his head towards the door of the room, “c’mon, let’s go.”

“Have fun,” Stiles ruffled Adonis neck briefly before entering her bathroom.

As the guys had left the house, she stepped into the shower stall and took a deep breath the moment the water hit her skin.

_Today is the day._

+++++++++++++++++++++

Stiles was just finished doing her beauty routine and _boy_ , how had it come to her having a beauty routine? She looked okay, though. Highlighter, bronzer and eyeliner would remain an eternal mystery to her, but at least she now knew her way around basics such as primer, BB, CC, concealer, eye shadow and mascara. The tinted lip balms were also no longer some weird alien product; Stiles had even begun to notice how her lips had changed for the better. They were no longer as cracked and rough as before, so perhaps all the advertisement was not just hollow words.

With a fluffy blue towel still wrapped around her body, she decided to get changed. As she reached for the doorknob to open the door between her bathroom and her bedroom, she found herself engulfed in white.

Blinking uncomfortably against the onslaught on her eyes, the girl felt a shift in the air around her. A cold breeze caused her to grasp at the towel covering her bare skin. The ground under her feet prickled against her skin and she carefully curled her toes against it to get a better feeling of this place. Something was wrong here, yet her mind was not putting the pieces together. Instead, the girl watched as the lights slowly faded only to reveal the lacrosse field.

Looking around the deserted stands, Stiles heard a humming in the distance, a cackling of sorts. Suddenly, the lights exploded, sending a fine dust of sparkling glass crystals down to the ground. The parts of her body which were not covered by the towel registered a burning sensation from the heated particles.

Her heartbeat sped up.

The field was now illuminated by the full moon, casting a single ray of light right onto the grass. As Stiles attempted to step closer, glass shrapnel crunched beneath her weight causing her to inhale sharply at the pain radiating from her feet.

In the distance, she could see a figure emerging from the darkness as it moved towards the field. Clad in black, with inhumane gleaming red eyes.

“Peter?” Stiles called into the night, her warm breath becoming a visible cloud of steam against the algid air.

What was Peter doing here? Moreover, why were his eyes red? He was not the Alpha anymore, was he?

The being that was supposedly Peter did not answer, it simply continued to march towards the center of the field, obviously trying to reach the small circle of light where…

Stiles exhaled another gust of hot air into the night.

Right in the midst of the cone of light, another silhouette had formed seemingly out of nowhere.

It kneeled on the ground. A dark entity against the shimmering light surrounding it.

Stiles tried to take another step forward, yet she was held back. Something had curled around her body without her noticing, impairing her movement. Hence, muscles twitched in shock the moment a squelching sound reached her ears. Right beneath the shadow in the moonlight, the earth began to rumble and to split, as a tree emerged from the ground.

Its branches grew at a rapid pace around the shadow figure trying to escape yet incapable of leaving the miniscule sanctuary the ray of light provided for its existence.

Stiles was still not able to move against her invisible restrains, thus being forced to watch as the branches enclosed the figure completely, swallowing it, suffocating it. A strident scream rendered everything else silent and the world around her evaporated into pure light, forcing her to close her eyes.

Breathing heavily, Stiles could feel an immense pressure around her midsection. Slowly, she opened her eyes as whirlwinds of tiny dots began to fade from her vision, her surroundings took shape.

She was inside her room. At least she thought so. Perhaps, this was just another mare escaping the depths of her subconsciousness? How was she supposed to tell?

“This is real.”

The voice behind her would have caused her to shriek and to flail if it had not been for her state of utter confusion.

“This is real.” Mikhail repeated steadily, waiting for the girl to snap out of her trance. He still kept a tight hold of her midsection, with his arms wrapped around her lanky frame to prevent her from hurting herself.

Luckily, they had returned from their morning run just in time to discover that his niece was having another episode when she was not able to decipher between reality and the images her mind created to fool her. Adonis had bayed the moment they had entered the house again, running upstairs with inhumane speed with the man following close behind. For the better part of the past five minutes, he had been holding the girl in place, unable to get through to her by normal means. He had already considered using a tad bit of magic, even if the mere thought of using the ancient craft on the teen had felt most repellent.

But now, as she came laggardly came to and turned towards him with wide amber eyes which already filled with tears, Mik would have to rely on hope.

Hope that Zdzi would not suffer from those visions much longer.

Hope that the Council would soon find the time for a proper hearing since the visions were not common, not at this stage at least.

Hope that somebody would be able to tell him why the girl crying against his shoulder was not allowed to grow up like the others in her situation.

Her situation that was so much more complicated than she deserved.

Gently threading his fingers through her short hair, Adonis lying at their feet for moral support, he hoped for answers and realized with a sliver of regret that today would not be the day.

+++++++++++++++++++++

After Stiles had calmed down enough from the events in the early morning hours, she had scraped the makeup angrily off her face and returned to bed. She could not understand why this particular vision had shaken her to this point, yet she knew that given time, she would find out what all of this meant. In the meantime, she felt entitled to be pissed because of not knowing, like, _now_.

From what she was able to gather, someone, perhaps the Nemeton itself, was calling for her, trying to tell her something. Something was off every time she entered this strange place in her mind. What exactly, she had no idea. So for now, the teen would continue to keep track of the vivid dreams and her reaction to them by documenting every single detail she was capable of recalling.

Perhaps Friday had not been such a good plan, after all. Maybe Monday would be a better choice instead. Especially, since Monday would be the first day of the second marking period, thus why not return to school then?

With her goal of returning to school on the following Monday in mind, Stiles spent the entire weekend organizing her laptop, making safety copies of the most important documents on her external hard drive and cleaning out old documents, homework and research that had not proven to be any useful. Her tablet came next. Then her new phone. She had still not added all of her contacts, had yet to decide on a decent wallpaper and she would have to choose appropriate ringtones. Talking from experience, these things could take forever and a day.

Time passed faster than she had anticipated and Sunday became Monday.

The day that, unfortunately, would also not be the day, since she experienced another episode during breakfast as she saw the table transforming into the Nemeton right in front of her eyes.

Monday morphed into Tuesday and it was not faring much better to say the least. Although, Stiles had to admit, she had gotten so far as to actually stepping foot into the garage to get into the car. She had already smelled the lingering scent of gasoline in the air when the lights had spun around her head again and all…well…her uncle had told her to focus on her progress.

It was half past ten when Stiles curled into her bed that Tuesday evening. She had left the door slightly ajar for Adonis to slip through once he felt like joining her in sleepy land.

To say that these past few episodes had bothered her were an understatement. Fury settled inside of her just thinking about these stupid daydreams! She just wanted to go back to school, damn it! To have at least the chance to pretend that her life was normal and not entirely fucked up because of supernatural creatures and entities haunting her.

Stiles threw her forearms over her face. Tomorrow was Halloween.

Tomorrow was Halloween and she would not even attempt to go to school that day.

If there was one thing that she could do without right now, then it was idiots trying to scare the crap out of people. Halloween was traditionally mischief day, the day when even the teachers would turn a blind eye at more or less harmless pranks among the student body. It was also Coach’s birthday and while the thought of him being pranked without her genius kind of stung, Stiles preferred the safety of their house. Just for tomorrow, though. The day after tomorrow, that would be the day.

As she snuggled deeper into her covers, her room went all of the sudden dark. Turning around to check her wake-up light which was supposed to cast a soft light into her room for about another five minutes, she found it dead. Downstairs, she could hear Adonis barking and her uncle shushing him.

“Zdzi?” His voice rang through the entire house. Both her dad and her uncle had inherited this particular ability from her grandfather. That man could be heard down an entire block, if he chose to.

“Yeah?” Stiles called back as she sat up in her bed.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, it’s probably just a blackout.” Taking her phone from her headboard, Stiles unlocked it to use it as a source of light. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the brightness. Already, she heard the steps on the stairs and the faint tingling sound of Adonis’ tags that she had grown so accustomed to over the past couple of weeks. It gave her a sense of security.

“Does this happen often around here?” Her uncle was leaning against her doorframe, holding a bowl of popcorn casually in one hand.

“Every once in a while, I guess,” Stiles shrugged, “the last blackout was in July. A power station partially overheated, but they were able to fix it within a few hours or so. Also, there weren’t that many households affected by it. Just a street or two.”

“Well, I might as well try to get some work for the new shop done, then.”

Stiles noticed the slightly crestfallen hunch in the set of her uncle’s shoulders.

“Can I help?” She offered quickly. Of course, the girl was not too familiar with his line of work because smithies and people prone to flailing were not necessarily a perfect match, but still, that would not hinder her from being supportive.

“I gotta decide on a place, first of all.” The man walked up to her bed and plopped down onto the mattress when Stiles scooted aside to make room for him. He stretched his long legs on top of the comforter, sighing as the motion caused a popping noise in his lower back.

He offered the bowl to his niece, who shook her head.

“I already brushed my teeth.”

Guffawing at her sincere look, Mik pretty much pushed the snack onto her lap until she gingerly brought a piece of popcorn to her lips. Satisfied, he began to elaborate on all the pros and cons of the places the realtor had shown him thus far.

Their discussion lasted until way past midnight.

The power supply had not yet been fixed.

Had Mikhail known the source of the blackout, he would not have been at such ease.


	11. Oct 31st, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't make it before the weekend but at least before Monday...sorry, Moonday^^ Only one more week to go!
> 
> I was really happy to see that three more people decided to subscribe to the story (dear anons, thank you) and I'm also really grateful for two more kudos by Nightfire_kVala and Flaremage. It's stuff like this that makes me go 'hey, there are people liking this' and hopefully, you'll also like where this is going. Well, October is done, finally, so we can move on to November now.
> 
> Also, I noticed that 'A Spark Ignites' is still getting hits (I guess because of this story) and I would like to thank the people taking their time to read both stories as well. You're amazing bc you make me smile <3

It was Halloween.

The day that, according to the iconic and entirely mandatory movie _Mean Girls_ , was the one day a year when a girl could dress up like a total slut and no other girl could say anything else about it.

Stiles had never made use of that particular unwritten teenage law. Or well, law in general. She remembered how her dad had used to complain about the taste level - rather the lack thereof - of how a certain amount of adults would have dressed. Each Halloween, it had been a pretty identical schedule at the Stilinski household: the Sheriff had opted for the night shift while Stiles had spent the night at Scott’s place, where they had scared each other to the best of their abilities, had watched horror movies and had dared each other to fall asleep first. The following morning, her dad had always picked her up and on their ride home, the girl had practically drilled holes into him for even the tiniest details about the happenings of the night.

Of course, after Scott and Stiles had reached the age when it had officially become _not cool_ to go trick or treating anymore - _13_ , Scott had said, Stiles had argued that there had been no guidelines supporting that fact - and since they had been total nobodies, they had never visited their fair share of Halloween parties. Hence, Stiles had not even once dressed like a total slut. She highly doubted that, even if she had, she would have been able to leave the house. Her dad had been rather protective that way.

When it had dawned on her in the morning that this would be the first Halloween without her dad, Stiles had begun to cry silently in the solitude of her dressing room. The guys had been on their morning run, thus the girl had actually been able to savor the moment for herself.

Sure, in the back of her mind, she knew that her father was not really dead, yet, that did not make up for the fact that he was gone and no longer a part of her life. Any kind of contact was strictly forbidden. Her uncle had explained her as much.

So this would be the first Halloween without her dad telling her to be careful, warning her of certain areas, demanding to be called immediately if anything was wrong and, one of the very first phrases Stiles had learnt, _stranger danger_.

It felt wrong not have him around. Not just in particular moments such as this but in general. Her uncle would not tell her why the rules had been created as they were. The man was pretty tight lipped about the whole _messengers thing_ as a whole. Yes, her father had given her a crash course on the night of her awakening, however that had been it. Perhaps her uncle had been holding back information so far due to her mental constitution. If Stiles had gathered anything these past couple of weeks from living with the guys, then that Mik was more invested in encouraging her to fight her own demons at hand before adding new burdens onto her shoulders.

Stiles liked to think that he would eventually open up more about their lore and also their powers. What good was it to be a supernatural being, if one was not even aware of their abilities? A teenager was entitled to knowing whether or not they could shoot laser beams from their eyes! Things like that ought to be essential information. Needless to say that so far, Stiles was rather underwhelmed with being a messenger. There were a bunch of laws, which her uncle would merely explain on a rudimentary level, she was not permitted to contact her parents and she was supposed to keep everything a secret from her friends. Although, her uncle had been cryptic about revealing herself to other people. In his words _‘I would not recommend doing it, you might get disappointed. Not all people are true believers’_. And had that not been the perfect source for a numbing headache?

She would get to the bottom of things, sooner or later. For now, though, Stiles would focus on preparing jelly shots for the adults who were bound to herd the hellish legions broken free of their master’s grasp this evening. Adonis was lying a few feet away from her, watching her curiously from the corner of his eyes as he chewed his Nylabone with ferocious _dog_ -gedness. Evidently, he was hoping that he would be on the receiving end of whatever she was producing. Food was almost more important to the Doberman than cuddles. If he were to have both at the same time, he would be in heaven.

Mikhail was working on their front yard. He had commented during breakfast how some things needed to be done, thus he was exposed to the elements as of now. It had been unusually cold these past couple of nights and by now, the crisp air of the nights would often linger until midday. Icy rain was also not helping the matter.

Looking over her assortment of little plastic cups filled with colorful jelly, Stiles wondered if she had made enough by now. Beacon Hills did not offer an endless amount of activities for children and tweenagers, hence Halloween was considered an important date for those under the legal age of voting. With the current issues the town had to face, though… Besides the media coverage about the murders, the storm and the fact that people had gone missing, _again_ , the blackout from last night had rendered almost half the town without electricity. Some blocks were still running on emergency supply. Even the school was still without power, yet they had decided against closing for the day. Lydia had informed her earlier via WhatsApp that Coach was apparently running around the halls with a megaphone.

 _Good thing I stayed at home today_ , the girl rubbed her neck as she carefully tapped against the surface of one of the shots from her first batch. The jelly had not set all the way yet and her finger came back damp with the underlying taste of blueberry and vodka. _Not bad_.

“Would you mind trying one of these?” Her uncle had not even made it all the way into the kitchen area, when Stiles shoved a container from the first batch his way. Even if it was not quite set yet, the taste was definitely there. “I did everything according to the recipe, but I’ve got no idea if the amount of vodka is right, though.”

“Have you tasted any, yet?” He sniffed at the small cup before lifting it to his lips and tilting his head back to let the mixture slide into his mouth.

“Yeah, I tasted one and I think it’s okay. We don’t want people to get drunk, after all. Just a little refreshment, you know?”

“Tastes alright.” Mikhail threw the empty cup into the trash bin, savoring the slightly burning flavor of alcohol and berry on his tongue. While Zdzi’s idea with the jelly shots had surprised him, he could not argue that it was a bad idea. Why not give the adults some grown up treats as well? He imagined that hardly anybody would complain. Some would probably ask for seconds.

“Okay. So where do you think should we put them?” The girl carefully carried one of the many trays over to the kitchen table. This one was loaded with cream and Khalúa jelly shots.

“Um,” Mik scratched along his jaw, light stubble picking against the skin of his fingertips, “the fountain might be a good place.”

“What fountain?” There was no fountain anywhere on this property, Stiles was pretty sure about that.

“The one out front.” At her uncle’s joyful grin, the girl regarded him incredulously before she moved away from the kitchen table towards the front door. The guys followed her when she opened the door and stepped outside. Her eyes widened with astonishment.

The entire front yard had been turned into a graveyard.

Several rows of gravestone were arranged across the lawn with either wilted flowers, cobwebs or rubble resembling freshly dug up earth around them. A fence that looked to be made out of metal defined the border of the property. And next to her, only a few feet away from the door, there was a three-tiered fountain which appeared to have been made from bones…not all human bones as she discovered two bird skeletons decorating the top tier.

It were moments like this when Stiles wished she could pull off a Wednesday Addams type of smile.

The decoration proofed that her uncle was no longer considering her too delicate to handle certain situations and even if her dad was not around, they would still have an awesome Halloween and once she was able to see him again, she would tell him all about it.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, Stiles felt something akin to hope.

+++++++++++++++++++++

The evening went over without any difficulties aka horrifying visions of the Nemeton and, if Stiles was to be honest, she actually enjoyed herself.

Mysterious fog wafted through the lines of gravestones arranged in their front yard. Fen fires danced along the newly erected ‘iron’ fence. Every now and then, a stone would quiver ever so slightly, or the ground would rumble as though there was movement right beneath it. The ‘iron’ gate squeaked deliciously shrill, causing people daring to open it to cringe. It was needless to say how much the kids loved to annoy the designated shepherds with opening and closing the gate over and over again until the _Grim Reaper_ would compliment them on their viciousness with a wicked grin.

Mikhail once again sported his favorite costume, the Grim Reaper including a seven foot scythe he had forged years ago, and greeted trick or treater parties at the front door, at times even at the gate, while Stiles used a sound machine in the back of the house and Adonis nearly howled his head off, sending fear into the hearts of the little hellions.

They had to refill the fountain with both candy and jelly shots several times. The adults seemed to be rather fond of the idea and accepted the _devilish potions_ gratefully and the kids? Yeah, well, Stiles and her uncle knew not to hand out tooth paste - c’mon, it was Halloween! - so their house was safe from being egged for at least another year.

Eventually, at around 9 pm, things settled down and by 10 pm, the streets were practically deserted, thus the Stilinskis sat down on the couch to watch a movie. Mik had let his niece choose, since he did not want to watch anything that would make her uncomfortable. He was astounded by how well she had been doing all day long anyway, but, to be honest, most decent Halloween movies featured the supernatural and the man was not keen on giving the girl more nightmares than she already had. He had been pleasantly surprised by her choice - _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ \- a superbly whimsical, not overly scary, yet highly entertaining flick. Mik would be hailing to the pumpkin song for a few days to come. How had he not been aware of this little gem beforehand?

It was close to midnight when they went to bed, not bothering to clean up the front yard until tomorrow. Stiles had already packed her necessities for school early in the morning and the outfit she would be wearing the following day was also planned.

A slight scowl marred her face when Adonis not so gently rutted around the bed to find a comfortable position. He was an eighty plus pound dog whose shoulder stood at more than 29 inch, she did not blame him for not being aware of his own size, particularly since from his perspective, most people were taller than him, but still…

“Lay down.” She told him softly and the Doberman obeyed immediately. “Good boy.”

He stretched his limbs, hence his paws were dangling over the edge of the mattress and Stiles smiled lazily into the darkness.

Tomorrow would be the day.

 _This time for real_ , she promised herself.  

+++++++++++++++++++++

Lydia’s gaze swept over the crowd. She leant against the bar, taking a sip of her drink and sighed in a lackadaisical manner. Why had she even agreed to come here? Derek’s loft of all places? Of course, she realized that the loft had not been Danny’s original idea but Ethan’s desperate attempt at getting back together with the other teen. It did not alter the way this place had and always would make her skin crawl, though. Even now, the banshee sensed an air of dread. She was uncomfortable. She had known that she would be uncomfortable; still, she had agreed to attend this event because she had had nothing better to do.

When had her life become this? A nineties rave was a nineties rave, no matter how one disguised it!

But Allison had wanted to go, arguing that everybody would be there, thus Lydia had gotten roped into this entire affair. Why her friend had needed her company was beyond the strawberry blonde, seeing as Allison had almost immediately after their arrival left her behind in search for Isaac.

Lydia rolled her eyes. Their little dance had been _so_ pathetic! They were not in kindergarten anymore, they were almost adults, for crying out loud. Besides, since Scott was busy romancing Kira, why not seal the deal? It was obvious that both Allison and Scott had grown enough to tolerate the other moving on with their respective love life. Even though the thought of Kira and Scott caused Lydia to snort. What was it about the young werewolf that he had such a strong tendency to fall for huntresses?

As the events of last night had revealed, Kira was the offspring of a hunter family. Their specialty: demons. And they had come to Beacon Hills. Why, her mother had not bothered to explain to them.

Arranging the puzzle pieces that made up yesterday still proved to be challenging, even for Lydia. First, there had been a full blown police/FBI siege at school because of a murderer having escaped from Beacon Hills Memorial. Of course, they had not found anything and left as swift as they had arrived. Then, several things had happened simultaneously. While Scott had been over to his first official date with Kira - a dinner at her home with her parents, _how delightful_ \- Allison had apparently been _studying_ with Isaac when she had received a mysterious phone call. The caller had spoken in broken English. Allison had said it had sounded like a military code having been repeated over and over again. 19 53 88. Always the same numbers for several minutes. Alerted by the sheer strangeness of the call, the teenagers had quickly informed their friends.

Neither Scott nor Kira had answered, but since Lydia was currently still free of any _distraction_ \- the banshee suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at the image of Aiden dancing with other girls at Danny’s party - she had been doing her nails and solved the riddle within seconds. Atomic numbers were such basic knowledge after all.

Although, Lydia had to admit, the manicure had merely been the result of her incapability to focus on more tedious matters. The buzzing sound that had been accompanying her for more than a week had still been clearly audible to her ears and it had been annoying her to no end by then. According to Mary - yes, they had agreed to converse on a first name base - the buzzing might have also be an indicator to an upcoming event, not necessarily a death but a drastic change or development nonetheless. And what a drastic development it had been.

As the three of them had met up in front of Kira’s home, they had found Scott lying unconscious in front of the house, the bloody remains of an already healed wound splattered across his hair and his face. He had only woken as Allison had gently held his head, talking to him. The flash of jealousy in Isaac’s eyes had not escaped Lydia, yet she had not commented on it. There had been more pressing issues after all, like figuring out what had happened to Scott and the whereabouts of Kira.

And while her deductive skills might not be on par with Stiles’ - yes, she had no problem admitting the other girl’s strengths - she had still been able to add up all the facts.

Within half an hour, the four of them had arrived at an old power station where Barrow had used to work before having gone lunatic. They had found Kira being chained to a fence with Barrow nearby, threatening and accusing her of being one of _them_. As Scott and Isaac had approached the fugitive, he had reacted by holding up a remote control which he had dropped the moment a shuriken had embedded itself into his wrist.

Kira’s mother had entered the room smoothly, yet as she had walked towards their group, her eyes had never left Barrow’s cowering form. A dark mist had sputtered from the cut in his wrist which he had clutched tightly. Once the woman had stopped within touching distance of the man, she had drawn a katana and moved to behead him while the teenagers had been occupied freeing Kira from her restraints. Barrow had somehow managed to duck the blow, grabbed hold of the remote again and pushed several buttons at once. The metal fence Kira had been attached to had cackled with electricity and the girl had screamed as her body had erupted in thousands of sparks. Barrow had laughed victoriously before his head had been separated from his torso with one swift motion by Mrs. Yukimura. The two body parts had disintegrated into dark ashes in a split second, leaving no traces that there had ever been a body to begin with.

Darkness had engulfed them. The power had been out. A short circuit had been caused by the amount of raw energy Kira had apparently released.

“We do not hunt werewolves,” Mrs. Yukimura had announced while removing the restraints which had held her daughter in place. Her daughter who had looked _way too_ fine given the circumstance of having just gotten electrocuted, “however, I will not allow anybody to interfere with my hunt.”

Kira had sent them an apologetic look when her mother had led her away from the group of nonplussed teenagers. Later that night, Scott had confessed to the others that he had noticed a light dancing around the new girl and Allison had immediately informed her dad about the Yukimuras.

Lydia still did not like the fact that Scott was willing to trust a stranger so easily, especially since she was a) a hunter and b) somehow not entirely human. But this was Scott, who was of course too good to be even considered real and without Stiles anchoring him to the real world, well…Lydia pursed her lips. It was about time that Stiles returned. Not that she missed the other girl’s flailing, or her sarcasm or her rambling, God no, but… _what was that?_

From the corner of her eye, the teen had caught a shadow moving across the improvised dance floor. Blinking, she focused on the crowd moving under the lights to the beats vibrating through the loft.

There it was again. A shadow. And there. Another.

Scanning the open area again, Lydia could see another shadow forming in the corner. As it came closer, it took the shape of a…Lydia felt tendrils of fear crawling up her spine when the figure took notice of her presence and locked its focus on her.

“Scott?” The strawberry blonde put her drink aside, darting forward into the crowd in search of the alpha werewolf.

“Scott?” She called out again, her eyes wide in hopes of getting a glimpse of the boy, yet she could not spot him between the moving bodies. The shadow man however was following her.

In an attempt to escape, Lydia made for the door leading to the balcony, shutting it securely behind her back. The air felt cold and refreshing in comparison to the heady dust lingering inside. She leant with her back against the door for support, trying to catch her breath when ashes gathered in front of her and arose to form another shadow figure.

As the girl desperately tried to reopen the door behind her in order to get away, the hooded figure reached out for her, sparking the urge to scream within Lydia. It had worked before with the Darach, so it should work now, correct? Yet the closer the gloved hand actually came to touching her, the stronger she felt like being choked. All she was able to muster was a slight whining noise in the back of her throat as her lips were forced shut by an invisible power.

The being’s eyes began to glow an ill shade of green. Unaltered angst chilled Lydia’s flesh, freezing her feet in place. A single tear rolled over her cheekbone.

The moment a finger brushed against the column of her throat, a blinding light engulfed the entire balcony, causing the thing to retreat and finally, as its hold over her was broken, Lydia could open her mouth to send a deafening scream into the night. Some of the windows next to her cracked and inside the loft, people echoed her scream as the lights above their heads exploded, sending everybody into a frenzy, desperate to leave the place.

The dark clad figure vanished into a gust of wind into the night.

The buzzing sound was gone as well. Everything was silent.

Obviously shocked from the encounter, Lydia tried to steady her breath when a twinkling caught her eye. Looking down at her hands, she saw the ring she had put on for tonight, the ring Stiles had given her, slightly glowing.

Could it be…?

She did not have time to consider the thought in depth as Scott entered the small outdoor area, scanning it with alertness.

“Are you alright?” He asked while looking around for any sign of their new enemy.

“Yeah.” Lydia had swallowed and nodded. “They’re gone now, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Scott regarded her with concern, “they marked Ethan, tough. Isaac, too.”

“What do you mean, they _marked_ them?”

Stunned, Lydia had followed the young alpha inside, finding the loft deserted except for the pack, Kira, Aiden and Ethan.

Both Allison and Kira were checking out a spot behind Isaac’s left ear.

As Lydia came closer she could see black lines standing out against the boy’s skin. The mark resembled an inverted Arabic numeral 5.

“What were those things?” Aiden asked. He was keeping an eye on the unconscious form of his brother right next to him.

“They’re Oni,” Kira’s eyes swept over the group before she lowered her gaze to the floor, “they’re the reason my family came here.”     


	12. Nov 1st, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me forever to get this chapter done...ugh...and here I thought that I had a thing going where I could update like, at least once per week...not so much...
> 
> BUT - big but^^ - I noticed that I have two more subscribers for this story (again, I don't know who you are, but it excites me to get this kind of feedback, thank you) and jennberk7 bookmarked the story, while Swiftyue bookmarked the series and I'm really glad about that. Also, ScottMcImTheAlphaNow gave me kudos and it's these things that make me continue. I know that this story is not catering to most people's interests (it's not Sterek and/or porn after all and I'm aware of that) and I also notice how my other stories seem to hit the mark more, but there are 26 story subscriptions, 12 author subscriptions and 11 bookmarks, so I feel like 'there are people liking this, so don't stop. Finish this properly because someone wants to know the end of the story and they deserve to know it.' 
> 
> So this chapter is a tad longer and, hopefully, the next update won't take so long.
> 
> Thanks to all of you for reading, giving kudos, commenting, bookmarking and subscribing. 
> 
> <3

Whoever said that first days were the worst days was most definitely not a liar.

As a general rule, first days sucked.

It did not even matter what kind of first day it was. The moment somebody was exposed to a new environment, a new assignment or anything new and unfamiliar that they knew would become a part of their everyday life - that was a moment nobody appreciated. Of course, they could tell the world that they were looking forward to it, they might even appear confident on the outside, but deep within, they would be just as afraid as a toddler on their first day of kindergarten.

Fear was not a bad thing.

Fear was an instinctive reaction which should serve to protect one from harm. In that regard, fear was even healthy as it alerted one to certain dangers. However, if fear became the primary emotion dictating one’s life, it could turn into something ugly at a rapid rate.

First days combined a bunch of emotions: fear, anxiety, hope, anticipation, joy and numerous others. First days posed a challenge: the challenge of facing the unknown.

Now it was only fair to say that this was not Stiles’ first day of high school. Of course, it was not. She was in her junior year and had walked those hallways for more than two years at this point. She knew where everything was, knew the teachers, knew the office staff, knew most of the people in her year - even if they did not know her - and she was positive that no one had bothered to change the school’s floor plan over the past six weeks of her absence.

 _Six weeks. Well, almost six weeks_ , Stiles thought as she smoothed out the navy blue shirt she chose to wear today. Since the scoop neck was a bit too wide for her liking, the girl had put on a black singlet beneath the second layer to achieve a bit more coverage of her cleavage, breast bone and shoulders. Evidently, the infinity scarf with the black, white and grey paisley should be sufficient enough for the job, yet…the girl scratched along her left side with annoyance. The t-shirt bra still felt weird, Stiles had only ever worn sports bras after all, but luckily it was nowhere near as bad as it had been the first day.

 _The first day_. There they were again. Those dreaded words.

Because today would be Stiles’ first day at school _After_. And yes, she had decided to distinguish the happenings in her life between _Before_ and _After_.

There were probably a lot of things at school that would now, six weeks _After_ , still be identical to the way they had been _Before_. The same buildings, the same chairs and tables, the same squeaky linoleum floors…

Stiles cast a look down at her dark mocha leather boots. Even though she had already tightened the bootlegs around her calves, she was still able to easily slip her hand in the gap between her leg and the leather.

She had packed her lunch and some snacks yesterday evening - the leftover rice casserole from their dinner was way more appealing than whatever the school cafeteria would be able to produce. Right now, her dietary needs did not evolve around how much she was eating but how much she was not eating.

 _Potato, po-tah-to_.

The bento boxes that her cousin had sent her made portion control a lot easier, thus documenting how much Stiles consumed was not that difficult. A normal sized meal was still more than her stomach could handle without revolting violently, even though she was eating more regularly now. Small amounts of food were without a doubt the way to go for the time being.

Stiles swallowed, mulling mentally over the list of absolute necessities which she would need for today for the umpteenth time. _Phone, well, phone that is actually charged, bag, books, notebooks, folders, food, something to drink, wallet, scratch that, wallet with money just in case, keys, pens and pencils, highlighters, the small makeup pouch that Oxana insisted I should take along even though we both know I won’t do any touch ups, since I have got idea on how to do that…I probably forgot something. I always forget something. People in these situations always forget something!_

“Zdzi?!” Her uncle calling her forced her to abandon this train of thought.

“What?!” She yelled back as she picked up her bag off her desk chair and made for the doorway.

“Are you ready? We gotta go!” Even though Stiles was already descending the stairs, she saw no need to lower her volume.

“Yeah, well, I just gotta put on my coat and then, we can leave!”

“Good!” The man’s booming voice made her chuckle. By now, their new neighbors should have figured out that they had crazy people living next door.

Mik reach out to hold his niece’s bag as she slipped her arms into the sleeves of her black coat.

“Ready?” He handed her the bag, which she shouldered immediately.

“Ready.” Stiles nodded. They had been over this so many times. She was ready, nonetheless she doubted that she would actually make it off their property this time around.

_That would be a first._

+++++++++++++++++++++

Stiles wrung her hands nervously.

They were almost at the school and so far, no scary images of the Nemeton, dancing lights or ominous shadow people. This was too good to be true. Perhaps she was caught in another nightmare without realizing it? She quickly counted her fingers - twice, just to make sure because in dreams, one always had additional fingers. Ten fingers, both times. She also counted her uncle’s fingers. Ten digits, although only eight were wrapped rather loosely around the steering wheel. What a scandal!

So, according to the finger count, this was real. Of course, there were other means for a reality check. The girl flipped down the sun visor and pulled at the tiny plastic handle to check for her mirror image because, when one dreamt, one had no reflection. The small mirror showed that her tinted lip balm was still in place, as well as her mascara and the rest of her makeup. About four weeks of daily beauty routine had reduced the amount of time Stiles needed to achieve a passable job to a trickle of what she had required in the beginning.

As she flipped the visor back up, her uncle pulled over to the curb. They were not at Beacon Hills High yet, two more blocks separated them from the school grounds. Stiles was pretty sure that her uncle knew that, too.

“Are you sure that you want to go today?” Mikhail looked at the girl. He had noticed how she had become more anxious the closer they came to their destination and he would not push her, if she was not ready. “Because I’ve done my homework with these drop-off lines. I now know the proper drop-off etiquette is to drive in there, basically throw your kid out of the car, preferably while said car is still rolling, not to make any eye contact with anybody and to get the hell out of there once you see that your spawn survived falling out of the vehicle.”

“Don’t worry, I’m familiar with the madness, too, okay?” Scott had made her volunteer with him for the position of car guard that one semester during Freshman year, when he had been all set on impressing Taylor Faulkner and making her his girlfriend. Another lost cause. “I’m just nervous. It’s going to be so weird going in there. I don’t want people to be awkward. I’m usually awkward enough to cover for other people’s lack of awkwardness, but if they’re now also going to be awkward, plus my awkwardness, which is probably double the amount of my normal awkwardness right now…”

“Zdzi?” It was wise to stop her before she could go on a full rant. “Look at me, please.”

Stiles bit her lips nervously, knowing that she would have to reapply her lip balm and did as her uncle had asked.

“Do you want to go to school today? You don’t have to. There’s tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. It’s okay, if you’re not okay. This is neither a race nor a test. If you don’t want to, that’s alright with me and Adonis probably won’t mind either. Right boy?” He looked over his shoulder to see the Doberman lounging on the back seat as much as his Sleepypod harness would allow. The dog had always enjoyed car rides. “See, he approves.”

“He yawned.”

“You just need to learn how to read these subtle signs properly.”

The teen snorted before she sighed and returned her gaze to the road ahead of them.

“But even if I go tomorrow or the day after that or the day after that or even later,” she shook her head, “people are still going to be the same. Just because there’s more time won’t really put a damper on their reactions. Putting it off won’t make it better, I’ll miss out even more and once you go back to work, I’d be by myself if anything happened. At least this way, there’ll be people around if I have, like, a panic attack or something along those lines.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, hopefully.” Stiles sat back in her seat as she gazed at her uncle. “I want to go to school today.”

“Okay, then.” He shifted gears and the truck began to roll again.

“So, do I get a heads-up for when you throw me out of the car or are you going to surprise me?”

“I thought I’d just yell at you to get the hell out.”

“I can live with that.”

+++++++++++++++++++++

The hallways were practically deserted although classes would begin in about thirty minutes. The school usually filled with the sounds of students at quarter to eight, when flocks of teenagers poured from the busses into the building and most others made their entrance. As a student one learnt fast that one did not necessarily need to be early per se, just early enough which practically meant: get in somewhere between first bell and warning bell and all was well.

Stiles had insisted on arriving this early since it would provide her with enough time to get her locker organized - well, not really _organized_ organized, yet the phrase _‘tossing the crap she would not need until later in there’_ seemed so undignified. _Organized_ had a much nicer ring to it.

Also, she would need to make a detour for the attendance desk to check back in. Knowing the two middle-aged ladies who were in charge of the office located right next to the principal - what was his name again? They had finally managed to find someone willing to do the job. It was something with M, Stiles could recall as much, Mont…something. Oh well, she might just as well have a look at the door plate while she was already there.

Mrs. Ellies and Mrs. Henry were very nice to say the least. They actually liked kids which was kind of a big plus for people working at a school and Stiles was sure they would want to chat for a bit, even if it was merely to express their condolences.

Of all the conversations Stiles has had ever since…ever since, this was by far the weirdest part because she knew that her dad was not dead, just…somewhere else…and, yeah, that did not make it sound any better. Fortunately for her, while the few people in the hallways had stared at her from afar, whispered among themselves and texted viciously as she had passed them, they had refrained from approaching her and thank a higher entity for that! Stiles already had to deal with unwanted attention due to ADD related outbursts on a regular basis, she was not keen on people pitying on her as an additional bonus.

When she entered the small office space, Mrs. Henry’s face lit up a little, causing slight crinkles to cast shadows along the lines of her mouth and her eyes. Mrs. Ellies was watering the plants on the windowsill.

“Good morning, Miss Stilinski.”

Stiles returned the smile while tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Even with the little bit of hair wax in it, it was still rather unruly. “Hey, Mrs. Henry. Hey, Mrs. Ellies.” She waved as the other woman had turned towards her.

“I just wanted to report back to duty. So, here I am, reporting back to duty.” Stiles was aware of how she gripped the straps of her bag a slight bit tighter.

“Well that’s good to know, then,” Mrs. Ellies smiled and nodded. In the meantime, Mrs. Henry was typing away on the keyboard to enter the information into the computer system. The numerous bracelets she wore clinked against one another due to her rapid finger motion.

“All set and done and you’re officially back attending Beacon Hills High.” The former brunette now turned honey wheat blonde said. “And now, about your uncle...”

Stiles suppressed a laugh. It was common knowledge that Mrs. Henry was quite the cougar, rumors had it that she was hunting for husband number four. Even Coach Finstock avoided her at all costs and normally, Coach could put up with pretty much everybody’s crazy antics.

“Ramona.” Mrs. Ellies scolded her co-worker, attempting to sound stern however a quiver in her lips and a sparkle in her eyes gave her away. “We do not ask about such things.”

“Well, excuse me, but did you see that man? So tall and handsome and _tall_. With that leather jacket and let’s not forget those manners. Do you know how hard it is to find a man with manners these days?”

Mrs. Henry was obviously smitten by her uncle. It always amused her how the _Stilinski charm_ , as her mother had dubbed it many years ago, was practically a guarantee for fun family stories which would be told every time the family gathered together for whatever reason. Apparently, Stiles’ male relatives on her father’s side had, to quote her mom, the male equivalent of a siren spell constantly surrounding them. Much to the guys’ chagrin and the women’s amusement. Stiles had never really seen her uncle dating anybody, he was the eternal bachelor. Well, at least he had never brought anybody home because bringing somebody home meant that it was serious. Her dad had usually referred to Mik as a _casual dater_.

“Good morning,” a new voice made Stiles look over to the office door. The dark haired man having just entered reminded her of…of course, the new principal! His picture had been published in the school’s newsletter together with an interview about how he intended to ‘lead and guide the student body’ after the occurrences of the past months. Now, if only she could remember his name!

“Good morning, Sir.” Both office ladies chimed in together with a giggle. Mrs. Henry obviously planned on playing her cards at more than one table.

“And you must be Miss Stilinski, am I right?” The principal walked towards her with an extended right hand which Stiles shook briefly. The girl was distracted by the Bluetick Coonhound following him as it was already sniffing the air around her animatedly.

“Yes, that’s me and _oh_!” Stiles regarded the dog curiously, since it had decided to bury its nose deep within her knee pit. “And what are you doing down there?” The dog did not even bother to spare her a glance as it kept sniffing her leg.

“Mally, stop.” At her owner’s voice, the animal stopped however she did not back up much from the girl. “I’m sorry, even though she’s an old lady, she still acts like a puppy at times.”

“It’s okay,” smiling fondly at the dog, Stiles noticed a bit of graying around her muzzle and her eyes, “she probably smelled Adonis on me and got curious.”

“Also a dog owner?” His question sounded sincere. Ever since Stiles had begun to join the guys on their evening walks, she had met a whole lot of dog people. Almost all of their new neighbors had dogs and the little Pom Pom furries next door were too cute to be even real. Stiles had had a hard time keeping petting and cooing to a minimum, seeing as she did not want Adonis to get overly jealous. He was her number one dog, after all.

“My uncle’s got a dog. A Doberman. He likes to sleep in my bed, the dog, not my uncle, ‘cause that would be _ew_ , so I most likely smell like him. The dog, I mean.” And here she was rambling again, what a great way to hit it off with the new principal. Oh well, how long would he last anyway?

“Well, then, Miss Stilinski, I am glad that you’re attending school again and if anything should be wrong, please notify me, alright?”

Okay, so he definitely knew about her situation. It was kind of hard for a person not reading or watching any kinds of news in Beacon Hills not to know about her… _circumstances_ …but, yeah, for some reason, Stiles was insecure about how she was supposed to feel about that. On the one hand, a principal was supposed to be involved with the happenings at and around his school, right? On the other hand, he might be another evil hiding beneath a caring exterior luring everybody into a false sense of safety.

_Oh God, I really have to stop suspecting every new person in town to be a potential mass murder! Hi, my name is Stiles. How many people do you intend on maiming and or harming and or murdering while you stay at Beacon Hills? There’s a really nice place downtown, if you’re interested in a great Sunday brunch buffet. Why is this my life again?_

Although, if she had suspected Jennifer to be evil from the beginning, her dad might still be around, so there was crucial evidence supporting her theory of _new_ equaling _evil_.

“I’ll think about it.” The teen answered truthfully. There was no need to either omit the truth or to make any false promises. Those tended to get her into trouble even if she made them with the purpose of saving her scrawny self.

“Well, alright, then, let’s get to work. Come on, Mally.” As the door to the principal’s office swung close behind them, Stiles finally got a look at the name plate above the small window. Montero! She had known it was something with Mont! Reveling in her ability to almost remember a name properly, Stiles said goodbye to the ladies and marched quickly through the currently heavily crowded hallways since she did not want to be late for her first block of the day.

People were letting her brush past them and strangely enough, not one of them bumped into her. On the contrary, once people noticed her it appeared as though they were deliberately making room for her to pass. That had not happened since fifth grade, when she had managed to create a particularly nasty stink bomb to get back at Ian Lombard when he had made fun of Scott because of his parents’ recent divorce. Nobody had wanted to come too close to her that day! Normally, people did not care whether or not they would brush against her, cut her off or even bump right into her - unless she was walking with Scott, then, it was like an invisible bubble was created around them because no one dared to cross their star lacrosse player.

What had this world become? Stiles had hoped that people would not pity on her and here they were, stepping aside for her. At least they did not talk to her, so that had not changed at all. Still, if the morning was any inclination to judge by, there would be a long day ahead of her.

+++++++++++++++++++++  

As Stiles walked into the library for lunch, she realized that the first half of her day had not been all that bad. She had been on time for her first class, had been able to answer all of the teacher’s questions directed at her - she had not felt the need to raise her hand once which was definitely a novelty - and even as the teacher had asked her to stay after class, she had only received praise for the work that she had sent in via e-mail over the past weeks. He had given her a few pointers to what he was expecting from her and that had been it.

Even the other students had not treated her strange except for the occasional staring. Yes, she looked a bit different. Losing twenty pounds did that to a person. Although, to be honest, she had already gained 1.7 pounds since her visit at the clinic and she was convinced that if she worked really hard, she might be able to get an actual booty by the time spring break came around.

Besides, she had not really known anybody in that class. Except for Danny, but then again, she did not know Danny on a personal level. Yes, there had been the whole Miguel incident and both of them were on the Lacrosse team, well he was on the team, Stiles merely managed the team aka stood on the sidelines, provided drinks and towels and held Coach back if he was set on mauling a referee. So, Danny was a team mate at best. Stiles had taken an empty seat and decided to focus on the lesson.

Her second block had not been much different notwithstanding that her uncle’s audacity to change her schedule was certainly weighing down on her shoulders. It was not that she was incapable of keeping up, however _Before_ she could have easily afforded to hit the snooze button several times per lesson. With the assortment of AP classes gracing her new schedule, there was no snoozing in her foreseeable future. Joy!

Even though people were not talking to her and limited their interaction to staring and whispering, Stiles had still been able to pick up on a couple of things; mainly that there had been a Halloween party last night, courtesy of Danny, at Derek’s loft, courtesy of Ethan, where everybody had left in a panicked frenzy when the lights had exploded above their heads.

The thought of people celebrating where others had died mere weeks ago caused her stomach to tighten in disgust. Especially since her friends had decided to go. How could they party where Boyd had been killed? It was sickening.

So the library was the perfect place for Stiles to get away from…from pretty much everything. Having spent the past six weeks at home with very limited exposure to the outside world, her first blocks had taken a toll out of her and she needed a just bit of serene library silence to center herself for the final block after lunch.

Her uncle had sent her a picture of Adonis at the beginning of her second block. It seemed as though the dog was a little weary as to why she was gone for so long. Naturally, her uncle had posted the picture on Instagram - yes, Adonis had his own Instagram profile, no, no judging allowed - with the caption ‘can we go pick her up, yet?’ #waitingforyoutogethome #soboredwithoutyou. The post already had 34 likes and a few comments. As if it was not bad enough that her uncle was blogging about his daily life which now included hers, no, the dog had to give in his two cents as well. Since Stiles did not have an Instagram profile, she had texted back that she was also waiting to get home hence they could nap together on the couch. Adonis was the greatest nap buddy of all times, paws down.

The library was void of any people, as the girl had expected, nonetheless, she still sought out a spot towards the back of the room where she would not be easily spotted. Stiles had not seen anybody from her usual social circle and she had not been in the mood to go searching for them. None of them, except Lydia, had come by even once, although Stiles suspected that had something do to with the first encounter between her uncle and Scott. Mikhail had told her about it a few weeks ago and she had been…she had reacted differently than she would have _Before_ , however this was merely due to her emotional status _After_. He would get an earful about her opinion on the matter once she had decided on an opinion on the matter.

Also, if she was honest with herself, she feared that her friends would discuss the party from last night. Obviously, the bursting of the lights was more than an accident - it was Beacon Hills, after all - thus the source had to be some sort of supernatural element and Stiles did not particularly feel like a lengthy conversation about a new evil within the city limits. Her father’s departure had unexpectedly put a damper on her appetence for knowledge about the mystical world.

“What are you doing here?” Someone to her left inquired rather impatiently and when Stiles turned her head, her view was obstructed by a pair of pale toned calves and suede ankle boots.

“I’m having lunch?” She emphasized her point by holding up the bento box containing her food. Of course, Lydia would have not of that.

“And you’re having lunch _on the floor of the library_ because?” A shift of weight from one leg to the other and arms crossing in front of her chest gave away the strawberry blonde’s annoyance.

“To escape the real world where people are staring and whispering and driving me mad?” Sarcasm dripped heavily from her lips. Stiles could not fathom what Lydia’s deal was anyway. “I’m not used to that anymore, okay? Six weeks at home with hardly any contact to the outside world will do that to you.”

“But the floor is nasty.” Lydia crinkled her nose, yet she made no move to indicate any desire for leaving.

“It’s not that bad actually. It got a proper chemical cleaning after Jackson turned all scaly and berserk on people and left everything covered in blood last semester.” Stiles would not abandon this perfect little hideout, no matter what argument Lydia came up with. If the other girl had a problem with her choice of lunch whereabouts, so what? Nothing would deter her, thus she opened her bento box and began taking small bites of her meal.

“I cannot belief that I’m doing this,” she heard the banshee mutter under her breath as she scooped the back of her skirt together with one hand while she used the other to steady herself on an adjacent bookshelf to balance herself as she sat down onto the floor next to Stiles. “What is that stuff you’re eating?”  

“Rice casserole with salmon,” Stiles answered around a mouthful, “tastes amazing.”

After Stiles’ overall condition had improved, she had become more involved in the household chores again and was mostly in charge of their meals now. Of course, her uncle would take over, if she lacked experience in certain areas like smoking meat, but overall, most of the cooking was now up to her. Neither her uncle nor Adonis had complained as of yet.

“What did you have for lunch?” Stiles noticed how Lydia was not unpacking any type of food, only a bottle of vitamin water and that hardly counted as proper nutrition.

“I’m not really all that hungry today.” Lydia untwisted the lid and took a sip of the cranberry colored drink. She would not meet the other girl’s eyes. Something was wrong, Stiles could tell but she would have to keep herself from prying. She was supposed to learn to respect both herself and others. It was part of the healing and growing process. Oh, well, she could always grow up later.

“And that would be because?”

“Why didn’t you come to our normal table for lunch?”

_Change of topic. What an interesting tactile move made by the House of Martin. Let’s go with it for now and see where it takes us._

“Like I said,” the brunette shrugged, “it’s really exhausting to be back. People are acting weird around me, like, it’s just not the way it was _Before_ , you know? I guess they’re trying to be polite and all and I can appreciate that, I really can, but it’s just super weird. For example, this morning, Warren Marlet actually stepped aside to make room for me and above all, he kind of smiled at me. I mean, at least I think he smiled at me, even though he isn’t supposed to do that because, last time I checked, he’d call me a dyke and tell me to get out of his way. And he’s not the only one who’s treating me differently. Everybody is. And it’s freaking me out.”

“Well, first of all, no one is supposed to call you _that_.” Lydia felt bad every time she reflected on how poorly people had treated the other girl in the past. Fortunately, Stiles had been too unimportant to ever gossip about her, nonetheless in a way that caused the banshee to feel even worse.

“Thank you, I’m aware of that,” putting the plastic container onto her lap, revealing that she had not even consumed a third of its contents, Stiles sighed, “but it’s still strange. I don’t want special treatment, I just” _want things to go back to how they used to be_ “I’m not used to people paying me attention unless it’s due to hyperactivity and or spasms. I think someone even said I looked good. Can you believe that?!”

“That must’ve been terrifying.”

Stiles simply settled on glaring at Lydia from the corner of her eye.

“But that still doesn’t answer my question,” taking another sip from her drink, Lydia managed a look somewhere in between annoyance and expectancy. No, make that expectancy with an air of annoyance at having to wait.

“I haven’t really spoken to anybody besides you and, for some reason, I figured that I did not want to have a grand reunion of sorts on my first day when I’m already dreading any type of social interaction bound to happen today,” Stiles searched through her bag to retrieve her own drink, “I guess I’m just scared, you know? I haven’t seen them… _since_ and it’s going to take weird to a whole new level when I do. Maybe if I met them one at a time, it wouldn’t be so bad. I don’t know. Scott is probably going to ask all sorts of questions that I don’t feel like answering and Allison and Isaac,” she swallowed, “they were there when,” a hand motion attempted to express the words she was not able to bring herself to say, “you know? And that makes me really unsure about how I’m going to react to them, I guess. Are they mad that I didn’t show up for lunch?”

“Not really,” Lydia processed the words and their meaning. Of course, she had not thought about the fact that both Allison and Isaac had been two of the last people that had seen the Sheriff alive. They had been there when the earth had buried the man and neither of them had spoken about it. Well, Allison had tried to talk about it once, after news of the funeral had gotten public, but she had ended up sobbing and crying and had not mentioned it again. “They’re mostly worried. We just want to make sure that you’re okay.”

“I’m not okay,” Stiles admitted without hesitation, “I’m functioning and working on being okay, but I’m not okay. Not right now at least. But I’ll get there eventually. I just need time. What about you? Are you okay?”

“You heard about the party, I suppose?” Perfectly manicured fingernails played idly with the label on the bottle Lydia held in her hands.

“People may not be talking to me, but they’re still talking. What happened that made the lights explode?”

“I screamed.”

Stiles sat up straight and turned towards the other girl. “Why would you scream?”

“We were at the party. Danny dubbed it a black light party but it was definitely a nineties rave, if you ask me, and I was at the bar watching the others dancing when, all of the sudden, there were shadows among the crowd, like, moving shadow people and they noticed that I had noticed them,” Lydia tapped her fingers nervously against the bottle cap, “so, I called for Scott but he couldn’t hear me and when I fled outside, one of them followed me. At first, it was as though my mouth was sealed shut and this thing reached out for me but then, I could scream and when I did that, the shadows vanished and the lights burst along with some of the windows.”

“Do you have any idea what those things were?” Something ugly twisted within Stiles’ gut. How could she have been so stupid to belief that they would be spared for some time? Deaton had warned them that the ritual would reactivate the beacon, luring creatures to the city like a flame enticing moths.

“Kira said that they were Oni.”

“And how would Kira know that?” Lydia had told her about the new girl having apparently a major crush on Scott which was reciprocated. Stiles was curious about her best friend’s interest in the new student, even though she had hoped that he would come back together with Allison. Perhaps this development was good for both of them, as it meant that Scott was willing to move on, so Allison would no longer have to feel guilty for not waiting on him.

“Because she’s a hunter. Or at least her mother is.” Lydia rolled her eyes. None of them had seen it coming, but, of course, it had to happen.

“A hunter?” Stiles felt her eyebrows rising to meet her hairline. “Well, Scott certainly knows how to pick’em, doesn’t he?”

“She said that her family had moved to Beacon Hills because they were after the Oni. When Allison and I talked this morning, she also mentioned that her dad knew something about these creatures, but that it would take some time to get more information.”

“And Kira isn’t sharing?”

“Her mother doesn’t appreciate it at least. She was pretty clear about nobody interfering with _her hunt_. So, Kira didn’t say much, even though it’s obvious that there’s more to it.” The banshee sounded clearly irritated with the situation.

“There’s always more to it.” Stiles packed the plastic container back into her bag; she did not feel like eating anymore. “So, what’s the plan?”

“We haven’t thought of anything, yet,” Lydia straightened her skirt over her upper thighs, “Scott’s relying on Kira to convince her mother that we should be involved, but I sincerely doubt that she’ll be willing to do that.”

“I don’t like it,” Stiles leant back against the bookshelf, several volumes poking her with their rigid edges.

“Me neither.”  

+++++++++++++++++++++

After their conversation during lunch period had left them none the wiser, except for the promise that both would do research on Oni, the girls had headed to their next class together.

AP English.

Why exactly it must had to be the one class that would force her to enter the room where her dad had been abducted, Stiles had had no idea, but it had taken _a lot_ of focus on the topics discussed during the lesson to not let her mind drift and ponder about that particularly gruesome detail.

She would have to get used to it at one point. Her dad was practically everywhere. All over the city, there were spots that would remind her of him and this was just another one of them and the girl would have to suck it up and to center on the present instead of the past.

_But today is a gift, that’s why it’s called the present._

So, her final block had been mentally exhausting. No big deal, it had been her final block for the day, after all, and now, everything left separating her from curling up on their couch with Adonis while cursing the world, would be her talk to Coach. She needed to get these things settled as fast as possible and she did not feel like postponing even though people could not blame her, if she chose to.

Stiles decided against walking through the locker room to get to Coach’s office, but opted for the route leading through the classroom adjacent to his office instead. She knocked loudly, knowing that if Coach was busy, he was likely not to hear her.

“Coach, can I come in for a sec? I really need to talk about a couple of things.”

There was soft cursing about game tactics and formations coming from the other side of the door. “Sure, come in kid.”

As expected, Coach Finstock was drawing multitudes of blotches and arrows over the whiteboard in his office. Lacrosse season was merely three months away and BHHS had a title to maintain. For the fifth time in a row, suck on that Franklin! Your Bison would fall victim to the Cyclones yet again!

When the man noticed who had entered the small space, he quickly put the board markers down and turned towards the girl.

“Stilinski,” he went to shut the door leading to the boys’ locker room on the other side, “what’s on your mind? Having trouble readjusting? Are people causing you any trouble? Is it anybody on the team? Please, don’t let it be anybody on the team, we really need all the people we can get, right now.”

“No, it’s not that,” it was always good to know, where Coach’s loyalties and priorities lay, “although, it’s about the team, I mean, I…I…,” _just get it out!,_ “I gotta quit the team, Coach. It’s not that I don’t want to be on the team anymore but I’m kinda not allowed to do sports right now. My uncle called in about that, too. So, yeah…I just wanted to tell you in person…I guess?”

“Yeah, heard about that and if I find out that this is some sort of excuse to get you out of P.E., I’ll have you do suicide runs ‘til you beg on your scrawny knees to be back on the team, Stilinski!”

“It’s _not_ an excuse, Coach, it’s just that,” the girl ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the strands caught between her fingers in frustration, “when I do sports right now, my body pretty much collapses due to the stress and then I’ll faint and I might injure myself and that would cost the school insurance money and we both know this joint is broke,” she took a shuddering breath before adding, “and I really don’t like fainting and hurting myself.”

“So, this is only a preliminary retirement. You’ll be back for the new lacrosse season, right? We need you out there, kid.” Yeah, the words _injury_ and _insurance money_ had most certainly done the deed. Because less money for the school meant less money for the team. Although, lacrosse had not really been on Stiles mind.

“I don’t really know if I’ll be back for lacrosse, to be honest. I only did that because of Scott but now that he is actually playing, I no longer need to keep him company on the bench, so,” biting her lips nervously made her feel some of her lip balm against her teeth, “…I was thinking about track and field, maybe? I was pretty good at high jump in middle school.” Of course, she knew that Coach knew. Lacrosse was not a sport Beacon Hills Middle School offered, but they had a decent track and field team. And Stiles had been on it. She had always been tall, so both high and long jump had come easily to her with high jump having been her favorite. And Coach was aware of that. He had personally tried to convince her to try out for their high school team time and time again but back then, Stiles had been too set on not being separated from Scott. Perhaps Coach would go for the bait.

“Stilinski, don’t toy with me now!” He pointed a finger at her in warning. “Are you saying that you want to try out for the track and field team, after I spent _years_ trying to make you join!? Because I remember your scores from middle school. You have excellent body structure for this and I’ll finally be able to shove it down Snyder’s throat when you beat his stupid _Flying Bison_. Who even comes up with a name like that?! Have you ever seen a bison? Nothing but fat and fluffy cows, no wonder they almost went extinct!”

“I’m being serious, Coach.” It was true. Stiles had given this some thought and after Dr. Meyers had encouraged her to reconnect with things she had liked to do in the past, track and field had occupied her mind for some time. Why not give it a try? It would take some time for her to get back into shape so that she would be able to get her body over the bar, but it was worth a shot. If she sucked at it, well, that would suck, but it was not as though she would be letting anybody down.

“Well, okay then. Good talking to you, Stilinski.” And with that Coach turned to enter the locker room. “Listen up, you maggots!” For a moment, the girl just stood there, hearing Finstock yelling at the cross country team in order to motivate them for an upcoming meet, letting the conversation sink in.

Eventually, she departed Coach’s office with a feeling of relief. This had gone a lot better than she had anticipated.

The hallways were once again deserted as she made her way to the main exit where her uncle was supposed to meet her. He had sent her a text that he had taken Adonis for a walk after lunch and the car was parked a few blocks away from the school, so they would go there together.

When she stepped out of the building into the bright light of day, her eyes needed a moment to adjust. Those neon lights were taking their toll on her, for sure. After a moment of squinting viciously, she spotted the guys near one of the patches of green along the parking lot. They seemed to be studying one of the sculptures from last year’s art exhibit that had been left there as some sort of decoration.

“It’s called ‘Divinity within Diversity’,” Stiles walked up to them and immediately, Adonis yipped excitedly to greet her. Following the protocol for relaxation, though, the girl knew not to respond to his antics since any kind of feedback on anxious behavior was considered a big no-no.

“Sit down, Adonis,” Mik gently tugged at the leash, diverting the dog’s attention and providing him with the focus necessary to calm down.

“I’d call it a split up penis,” he then informed his niece as he began to walk down the pavement.

“Yeah, well, but that doesn’t sound so good, now does it?” Stiles chuckled. This piece was more popular with the student body than most others. Only the ‘Squatting Guy with An Elephant Dong’ also known as ‘Pillars of Modern Community’ could beat it.    

“So, how was your first day?” Mikhail smiled when he saw Adonis finally relaxing. The dog had been tense ever since he had realized that Zdzisława would be gone for more than just an hour. Now that he was trotting between his humans, he eventually let go of the anxiety and enjoyed their little walk.

“It could have been worse, I guess.” Stiles shrugged. “Like, a lot worse. But, yeah, I’m still glad that I can go home now.”

“So, you wanna go again tomorrow?”

The girl cocked her head to the side, thinking about her options. She was aware that her uncle would not force her to go, if she truly did not want to, still…

Whoever said that first days were the worst days was most definitely not a liar.

As a general rule, first days sucked.

However, what a lot of people seemed to overlook was that after the first day, there would be a second day and relying on the experiences made that first day, second days could be considered even worse. Since after the first day, one would know what exactly awaited them the day after.

“Yeah. I wanna go again.”


	13. Nov 5th, 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys and girls! It took me again longer than I expected, but there’s a reason for that: by now, I’ve gotten the whole story mapped out (plotwise), yet when I write, it happens that I’ll add stuff because I feel, like ‘hey, this is a great idea and it would tie in so well with that thing that’s gonna happen later’…and yeah, that’s what happened here. I thought that this chapter would be about 5000 words. Now, it’s about 9.000 words…and this time, there’s actually something happening! Yay! Action!
> 
> Also, noticed that shadow12 bookmarked this story (THANK YOU <3) and there’s 1 new subscriber (hello, I don’t know you but I really really like you).
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter and feel free to comment, kudos, bookmark, subscribe, dance around the room. We’re almost halfway done. Woot!

 

Mikhail Stilinski was dead.

And nobody would be able to prove anything.

Stiles had thought about her uncle’s early demise for the better part of the past hour. There was just no way around it. She would have to kill him.

Sighing yet again for the umpteenth time, gaining her another pointed glare from Aiden sitting to her left, the brunette stared blankly at the canvas in front of her.

AP Art History.

AP. _Art_. History.

Stiles was ready to murder her uncle. She would slowly torture him until he was practically begging for death. First, she would steal all of his junk food and pour away his beer. The moment he would bring something into the house, it would be gone. Then, she would adjust his diet the way he had adjusted her time-table: without asking. The girl took particularly immense pleasure at the idea of feeding him bland tofu and making him eat every last bit of it.

Why would he ever - _ever_ \- put her in an _Art_ class?!

The history part? She could deal with that. She was awesome at history. But _art_? _Why_?!

Obviously, the man had not done his homework properly on that one. Otherwise, he would have known that Ms. Everett, the teacher responsible for the AP art classes, was rather persistent when it came to teaching her students both theoretical and practical approaches towards the subject.

Thus, each quarter of AP Art History was divided in approximately six weeks of practical application and six week of actual history. Miss Everett was convinced that putting the practical part first would ease the students into the rather dull history later on.

In Stiles’ opinion, there was nothing wrong with rather dull history as long as she would not have to do the actual art part since she was not an artsy type of person. Craftsy, yeah definitely, but not artsy. Creative, sure, but so not artsy. Imaginative, hell yeah. But. Not. Artsy! She would have to work her butt off for the actual history part of the class to get a passable grade and her uncle would have to suffer for it. Perhaps she could teach Adonis how to fart in Mik’s bedroom? She had already taught the Doberman an easy trick called _touch_ when he would poke his nose against her hand and they were currently working on _tap_ , so the potential was certainly there.

The upcoming four weeks would be insufferable and semester finals would be absolute hell since Ms. Everett expected each student to present a topic related to the subjects the class had covered over the past semester by means of an original _self-made_ art piece.

So, on today’s lesson plan was the use of primary colors with a hint of black and just a nuance of white. Ms. Everett believed it would help the students deepen their understanding of the RYB color wheel, color theory and the development of color throughout history in general. Stiles would have preferred writing an essay about Goethe’s _Theory of Colours_ in correlation to Newton’s work with prisms and light. She would have preferred anything. Even Chemistry with Harris sounded more appealing. Although, on second thought, seeing that Harris was dead and if he were still to teach, he would be a member of the undead added to his normal evil persona…nah, Art was still worse.

What made it even worse was the fact that she was surrounded by people that were actually talented. Looking around, Stiles saw that everybody was entirely focused on the canvas in front of them. She could see Lydia cocking her head to the side as she carefully moved her brush. Allison was mixing a shade of turquoise - how was that even possible when they had only five base colors to work with? - while Isaac was diverting his attention between his artwork and stealing glances at Allison from across the room. That was a development Stiles had not seen coming. Aiden had somehow managed to create an immaculate spiral, swirly pinwheel sort of thing with seamless transitions from one color to another. It was gorgeous!

In the meantime, Stiles had not achieved…much. While everybody else had started to work on their canvas the moment Ms. Everett had told them about the colors they would be using today, the girl had simply stared at the off-white screen in front her. She had not known what she was supposed to do. After some encouragement by the teacher - _there’s neither right nor wrong with art, just do as you feel -_ and Aiden’s, hopefully well-meant even though it sounded rather annoyed, mumbled - _just take the damn brush, put it in the damn paint and fucking fake it_ \- she had settled on covering the entire white space in front of her in black with the occasional stroke of white turning gray in between. It was not that bad, at least she had done _something_ , but she would still have to suffer through roughly 30 more minutes.

This would be a really the longest semester ever! Especially since BHHS head tweaked the block scheduling so that in the mornings, students had to attend two blocks, followed by lunch and that was followed by an excruciatingly long double block in the afternoon. Not only would Stiles have to survive 90 minutes of Art but close to three hours!

She should complain to her grandmother. It would be pretty low move, nonetheless it would be highly effective. If anybody was able to set her uncle straight, it would be her grandmother.

“Miss Stilinski,” Ms. Everett’s voice startled the girl slightly, causing her to drop the brush she had been twiddling, “oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spook you.”

The woman’s apology sounded sincere.

“It’s okay,” Stiles grunted as she picked up the tool.

“I know that the process of creating does not come easy to everybody, but if you just breathe and let your hands do the thinking, it might just do the trick. Give it a try.”

“Thanks, Ma’am.” The girl answered to the teacher’s already retreating back. This was also one of the upsides of Ms. Everett - she never lingered too long to make a student feel uncomfortable. She would give some advice and even praise, yet there was never a feeling of pressure with her.

So, Stiles leaned back as much as her chair would allow, closed her eyes and breathed.

Breathing exercises were no novelty to her. When she had been little, her mother had taken her to several ‘Mommy & Me’ yoga classes to help her focus. She had always been hyperactive, yet not to the point where her parents had ever considered getting her a prescription. Instead, her mother had followed their pediatrician’s advice and adjusted Stiles’ diet to eliminate foods which would have stimulated her usually high level of activity even further.

Her mother had basically taught her how to balance nourishment, exercise and relaxation from the moment the girl had been able to run…although, to be honest, that had probably been due to the fact that Stiles had kind of skipped the walking face and had immediately turned into a Tasmanian devil, having driven her parents mad with her running around, falling and hurting herself.

Of course, after her mother had died, Stiles had been at a crossroads: on the one hand, she had wanted to cherish the memories. On the other hand, the memories had caused her pain, nightmares and panic attacks. Hence, she had eventually decided to distance herself from anything remotely reminiscent of her mother in order to be able to function. It had been difficult at first, yet after a while it had become gradually easier to the point where, occasionally, Stiles had found the strength to look at a family picture without crying, to sneak a peek into an old cookbook with handwritten notes all over the pages and to visit the woman’s grave by herself.

As Dr. Meyers had encouraged her to face her demons so to speak, the joys of days long past had definitely popped up before Stiles’ inner eye. Calm had never come easy to her and the teen had never experienced anything remotely scratching at the door to inner peace. But she had remembered how much she had liked to attend those yoga classes. Twisting one’s limbs around to impossible poses until one had to tumble over - it had been so much fun and strangely enough, Stiles had felt a fond smile grazing her lips at the memory.

So, as she sat back in her chair, the brunette recalled the steps to centering herself.

_Sit up straight, relax your shoulders and just let them hang by your sides. Keep your head straight so that you breathe against the ground. Don’t breathe up into the air and don’t breathe down against your chest. Feel the breath spreading from your nose into your body. Inhale and exhale evenly without force. Your feet stand still. They stand firm against the ground beneath them, but don’t press them down. Don’t shift your weight unnecessarily. Find your balance within your body and hold onto it._

It was strange how the lines in her head were spoken by the yoga class instructor from when she had been little. Such a warm and soothing voice. Caring. Nurturing. Patient. Washing over her like a soft breeze which Stiles inhaled and exhaled. In and out. Out and in. Start all over again.

When Stiles opened her eyes again, she stood in a narrow hallway. The dark wooden floor felt uneven against her bare feet. Upon taking a closer look, she saw the apparent reason for that: instead of traditional wooden plank, the floor was actually made of tree roots. Tree roots that, once she lifted her eyes off the floor, grew along the walls of the corridor. The trees’ black bark stood out against the night colored walls. Cocking her head to the ceiling, Stiles eyes widened in amazement: the tree trunks parted into delicate branches and attached to their delicate wooden fingers were blossoms of light, immersing the room into a soft glow.

This was not a hallway. This was a pergola of stars caught within nature’s limbs.

Slowly, Stiles reached out to touch the glimmering petals above her head. As the tips of her digits brushed gently against one of the little lights, a jolt of electricity caused her to retract her hand with a curse. Checking for any injuries, Stiles saw that he hand was covered in the remains of blood, even though she could not detect any cuts. It was not her own blood, then.

A buzzing sound alerted her and as she looked around the room to localize its origin, the brunette was able to determine a shift within the tree blossoms. The lights were humming and they were getting louder before they started to move. One after the other, they fell from the branches, only to simply stop at mid-fall. Mesmerized by the scene in front of her, Stiles observed how the blossoms morphed into fireflies, illuminating the space with their intricate dances.

Then, all of the sudden, the thousands of lights died at the same time, vanishing into dark ashes which fell audibly onto the tree roots with a gust of wind. Everything was dark. Everything except for…there was a light at the other end of the hallway. A halo of some sort.

Squinting her eyes, Stiles was capable of discerning the outline of a door that stood most likely ajar. Carefully, the girl stepped over the roots beneath her feet towards the door. Was it an exit? Where would it lead to? How…her train of thoughts was abruptly interrupted as the slipped and landed face first on the hard ground. Both of her hands stung as she lifted herself back up and within the dim light casting from the door into the corridor, Stiles saw her palms glinting slightly red. More blood.

Alerted by the red liquid, the girl’s heart began to pound against her lungs and her ribcage. Her breath sped up, too, as she staggered across the roots covering the ground in order to reach the door. Again and again, she would either stumble or fall and each time she touched a part of the trees, her hands would come back darker, bloodier. Her feet were wet, causing her to slip more often the further she made it.

She just wanted to get the hell out of this place.

Her pulse echoed in her ears. Her blood pumped through her veins at a painful rate. Her sweat was thick, drenching her clothes, dragging her down.

The roots beneath her feet moved as animalistic screams filled the air.

_Forward, forward, ever forward, towards the door. To get out. Get out._

The roots were now curling around her calves, attempting to stop her, to hold her back but Stiles ran faster, chasing the light, putting distance between her and the foes.

The moment she was about to grab the doorknob, a vicious wooden limb wrapped around her right ankle, pulling her back into the hallway. Since she had been holding onto the knob, the door opened, allowing blinding white light to illuminate the entire space.

As Stiles’ eyes adjusted to the brightness, she noticed that the hallway had vanished and morphed into a white room. In front of her, mounted to the wall, was a sink with a mirror above it. Getting up from the floor, the teen saw her hands covered in blood, some of it was already dried but there were no wounds. Nowhere.

She stepped carefully towards the sink. Perhaps she was able to wash it off, to get clean.

The ceramic felt cold against her burning hot hands when she leaned onto the sink for support. Looking up into the mirror, a young woman looked back at her.

Her dark copper blonde hair was long, with soft curls cascading over her pale slim shoulders. She wore a summer dress. A white summer dress with a blue butterfly print. There was blood on the dress, seeping through the fabric, spreading across the material.

Amber eyes widened in horror the moment blue eyes turned cold.

The girl in the mirror vanished.

“Stiles!”

The brunette whipped her head around.

She was no longer in the white room, but in one of the girls rooms at school.

On the floor.

With Lydia kneeling right next to her.

+++++++++++++++++++++

When the girls returned to the class room, everybody was already done with cleaning their tools and putting away their easels and canvases. While they were staring at Stiles, some more boldly than others, the girl quickly went back to her chair to clear up her space as well.

Aiden informed her that Ms. Everett had taken care of her brushes and colors, when the bell rang.

People hurried out of the room, their first break only lasted ten minutes after all, leaving Lydia and Stiles to gather their things and Ms. Everett to prepare for her next class. Allison had obviously stayed behind for the strawberry blonde.

Stiles did not bother to overhear their conversation, she was too submerged looking at her canvas. She remembered painting it black with strips of white in between, but everything else? Rising from the darkness of the background, was a swarm of butterflies. Strong brush strokes, occasionally the use of fingertips, had created dozens of butterflies. Red butterflies. Some were of a darker burgundy color. Others leaned more towards shades of rose red and even pink.

They were dancing all over the painting with their wings dripping blood. How had she been able to create this? How?

“Stiles?” Lydia’s voice caused her to stir. When she looked up, she saw the other girls right beside, both of them were regarding her creative outburst curiously.“Butterflies.”

“It’s not bad, actually.” Allison managed a supporting smile.

“It is,” Stiles answered without taking her eyes off the red dots, “I didn’t see butterflies when I did this.”

“Well, art leaves room for interpretation.” Ms. Everett took the canvas down, breaking the spell it had cast upon the brunette. “What did you see then?”

“Blood.”

+++++++++++++++++++++

A shrill artificial howling sound caused the students to cringe as their lesson was interrupted by the speaker mounted to the wall near the chalkboard groaning to life. Some static echoed through the room that had been silenced efficiently.

Hopefully Mr. Curtis would not adapt to this particular method in order to rein his class in. Lydia had been right: while the man was most certainly qualified to teach in regard of his intellect and knowledge, he was most certainly not qualified to guide anybody through the lesson plan. He simply lacked authority and had no idea on how to achieve assertiveness. Their PSAT prep was slowly vanishing down the drain and since the board had announced the date for the test, Nov 9th, hardly anybody would the saying TGIF this upcoming Friday.

Of course, given the fact that his students were not little kids anymore, one ought to be fooled into believing in a mutual interest for English literature which would result in an air of respect, but…nope - with a big fat ‘pop’ of the P. As Coach had once said ‘ _There’s a reason we keep you monsters stuck behind these little tables. It’s so we have more time to run in case of a mutiny’_.

“May I have everybody’s attention, please?” Mr. Montero’s voice rang along the walls with an odd synthetic tone underlying his word. The first public address system had been installed right when the school had been built twenty-seven years ago and, needless to say, that first PA system was still their current PA system.

“There has been an incident on school grounds leading to an investigation conducted by both the FBI and the local police as I speak to you.”

As soon as she had registered the words, Stiles’ stomach cramped while her fingers began to shake ever so lightly. Quickly, she shoved her hands beneath her thighs to sit on them in an attempt to impede the nervous vibrations from claiming her entire body. An incident on school grounds could mean many things. Perhaps, the police - yes, she had more confidence in the police than in the FBI, so what? - had found a new piece of the Barrow puzzle from about a week ago. Some people in the classroom moaned about yet another pointless lockdown. Just because there was an incident that did not necessarily entail a murder. Besides, if there was a dead body, Stiles was pretty sure that a certain banshee would have known, right?

Looking to her left, the brunette saw Lydia staring at the speaker without any distinguishable expression. Perhaps it was shock, but Stiles was usually not that good at reading people’s body language; hence she would leave the multitude of questions crossing her mind for later.

“Therefore,” their principal continued, “certain areas of the school are temporarily not accessible. Please, do not interfere with the investigation and follow the police’s orders. Thank you.”

After the speaker system died with an irritating static gargle, the room was quiet for about two Mississippis. Then, almost everybody burst into talking, texting and preferably both at the same time. Stiles simply rocked her weight back and forth, adding pressure onto her still trembling hands.

++++++++++++++++++++

Lydia had exited the classroom at something akin to werewolf speed and Stiles attempted to follow the strawberry blonde to find out what was wrong. Ever since the public announcement, the other girl had been acting off.

Strangely enough, as the teen entered the hallway mere seconds - okay, perhaps half a minute bordering on 45 seconds - after the banshee, there were literally masses of people pushing through the narrow space, thus Stiles was not even able to spot just a bit of Lydia.

Why were there so many people jamming the hallway? It was not Taco Day and even if it were, the cafeteria was on the other side of the building. So, what was going on exactly?

“I heard they found a body in the library.” A girl walking passed her told the people surrounding her.

“Of course they’d find them in the library,” one of the boys chimed in, “have you ever been in there? It’s not like there’s anything to do but to die.”

The entire group laughed.

In the depths of Stiles’ stomach, something churned. She would have to skip lunch today. Also, on second thought, she would have to go to her locker in order to put some books away and retrieve the ones she would need for the block in the afternoon. However, if what the girl had stated was true and the library really had become a crime scene - again - then, the brunette was bound to have difficulties reaching her locker given the fact that it was near the library entrance.

In a way, she did not blame her fellow students as she pushed through the throngs of people. Nothing interesting ever happened at school, hence the sheer size of the crowd that had gathered in the hallway adjacent to the library was not all too surprising. Some people were even standing on their tiptoes in hopes of getting a glimpse at the library doors. At 5”9.5, Stiles had never truly felt the need to tiptoe. Yes, she was highly aware of the fact that she was taller than most girls and even some guys in her year. Her height had always been among the many insults thrown her way because, to be honest, if one was different, even if it was in a positive way like a talent for music for example, others would constantly use said difference to put one down.

It was one of the reasons why Stiles had not yet worn her new wedge booties to school, even though her balance had gotten much better. She just did not want to draw any unwanted attention to her. Well, any _more_ unwanted attention. Her change of wardrobe and overall looks were still guaranteeing her a fair share of superfluous interest.

Squeezing past a few people, the girl finally reached her locker. What was it with all the rubbernecking? Had this town not seen enough crime already? Once the news about this got public, Beacon Hills would be all over the media _again_. They were simply not allowed to rest, were they? And why the heck was nobody…

“Listen up, kids”, Coach Finstock’s voice boomed through the corridor. Obviously, no one had bothered to take that megaphone from him as of yet, “if you’ve got no place to be, then I know just the right thing for you: detention! So, get moving!”

Stiles had never believed that Coach could be any louder than he normally was. She prayed that he would not use that megaphone during practice. That would be just inhumane.

Slowly but steadily, with Coach’s ever so subtle words of encouragement, students were leaving the hallway and by the time Stiles had closed her locker, the amount of people still loitering around was considerably normal. Looking around, the girl now saw the barricades and police tape closing off the area right around the library entrance, reducing the width of the hallway at that point significantly.

It was also when Stiles spotted the deputy from her interr… _questioning_ with Agent McCall. Yeah, they had stuck the newbie with the duty of crowd control also known as being dubbed the ‘move along guy’. Such cruelty. She sympathized with Deputy…Deputy P…something with P…something something with P…How was that even possible? First, she had not been able to recall their new principal’s name and now this! She could remember the most popular movie quotes of the past decade in alphabetical order, but a simple name had her mind at odds.

The young man seemed relieved by Finstock walking around and yelling at people through his megaphone. Naturally, students would fear Coach more than a good-looking police officer. And, yes, Stiles had no trouble admitting that the deputy was attractive. Hell, with looks like that, people were most likely trying to flirt him into giving them tickets.

Surely, he was pretty fed up by now by annoying teens and teachers trying to pry some information from him. It was just not fair. He had to remain outside telling people the same lines over and over again, while the others were…well, he was doing actual police work, still, Stiles felt sorry for him.

Checking her surroundings - or whatever was visible of her surroundings besides groups of students still pretending to be busy, so they could stay longer in the corridor for shady not self-explanatory reasons - the teenager’s eyes widened with delight at the sight of a vending machine. Constant talking put such a strain on the vocal cords and a dry throat was simply inacceptable for an officer of the law. It was practically her civic duty to help the deputy out.

Knowing that it would project a bad image, if a deputy shushing people away did so with a huge drink in his hand, Stiles settled for eight ounces of still mineral water. And, of course, she had no trouble retrieving the information about what the deputy had drunk during the interr… _questioning_ from the depths of her mental archives. She even remembered how he had taken small sips instead of one large gulp, for God’s sake! So, where was the file stating his name, dammit?!

Stiles carefully made her way towards the blond officer.

“Hey, Deputy”, she quickly checked his name tag, “Parrish.”

Parrish. How had she forgotten about that? Parrish. Parrish. Parrish. Parrish like perish. Although that connotation was rather unfortunate.

“Miss Stilinski.” The deputy managed a smile while scanning the area continuously. “I cannot answer any questions regarding the happenings behind that door.”

Ah, so somebody at the station must have given him the ‘ _Don’t talk to Stiles about police stuff_ ’ talk already. Why her dad had been so insistent on everybody sticking to that completely unnecessary protocol was beyond her. She was merely trying to help, okay?

“Now, why would you think I was going to ask about whatever is going on in there?” She tried to sound offended, however, Parrish’s smile only widened. _Great_. “I just wanted to give you a drink,” thrusting the bottle in her hand at him, she went on, “all that ‘move along, there’s nothing to see’ sure does take its toll on your throat.”

“I’m not allowed to accept that.” The deputy held up his hands with an apologetic look marring his face. Apparently, while his co-workers had informed him about her, they had still not covered all the rudimentary facts like her stubbornness, yet.

“You’re not allowed to accept the bottle of water that you would have gotten anyway once the masses returned to their lessons? This isn’t some sort of bribe, okay? I just know how much it sucks when your throat gets so dry that you’re basically beginning to chew on your own dust.”

“My job does not suck.” Alright, he had interpreted her words the wrong way. It was good to know that he took pride in his work, though, no matter how tedious the tasks it involved might be.

“Not in general, no, but right now? It totally does. You should really take that bottle.”

For a moment, Stiles was able to see the young man hesitate, as though he was actually considering her offer. Then, his features became stern once more. He opened his mouth, when

“Just take the damn water already, kid!” Nothing would ever escape Coach’s hawk eyes. Greenburg could tell.  

“What’s that guy teaching again?” Parrish carefully took the small bottle from her, eyeing Finstock suspiciously before twisting it open and bringing it to his lips.

“Economics and P.E.. And he’s also coaching several teams. The lacrosse team won the championship for the last three years in a row and the pressure for winning next season is on.”

“It’s still weird when people call me _kid_ , while I’m wearing the uniform.”

“Yeah, don’t take it personally,” Stiles shrugged, “that’s Coach, you know? Besides, you probably get that a lot with your looks and all. How old are you anyway? Are you some kind of prodigy that graduated super early and went to study string theory but eventually decided to join the force after you had been tragically mugged in an alleyway?”

_Why, brain? Why?! Why do you have to do this to me? Just work with me for once, okay? We gotta focus here!_

“I’m actually 24 and after I graduated high school at age _18_ ,” even though he was obviously astonished by her ability to maximize one single draw of breath, Parrish collected himself quickly and managed to put special emphasis on the number, “I joined the military and after that, I decided to join the police force.”

“I like my story better,” Stiles nodded sincerely, “although, with the military and all, it does add some Steve Rogers flare, so that’s not too bad, I guess.”

_I should simply sink into the floor. There must be some spell for that, right? God, this is embarrassing. And why is he looking at me like that? Yes, I know what I said was definitely…oh!_

“You don’t know who that is, right?” Stiles shook her head. _This world. It’s getting me every single time, man. Let’s just ignore the fact that people hold not value for epic storytelling these days. But what exactly am I supposed to say? ‘So, what do you think about Beacon Hills? Nice city besides the murders, right?’ is likely not the way to go._

Stiles did not need to come up with a plan to keep the conversation going, since the library doors opened to reveal Agent McCall and a special someone.

“Bono!” A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She had not seen this particularly gorgeous face for so long. The dark furred Shepherd Dog reacted immediately by pulling his handler, Deputy Johnson, towards the teen. Stiles kneeled down to greet him properly. Since the girl had spent a lot of time at the station over the years, she was familiar with every single employee there, especially with the furry ones. Those dogs adored her and it was not just because she had brought them homemade doggy biscuits on numerous occasions - no, Stiles just knew all the good petting and scratching spots.

“He missed you,” Deputy Johnson told her as she eagerly ran her hands through the fur around Bono’s collar. The dog’s tail wagged excitedly. “We all do.”

“I miss you guys, too,” she focused on looking at the dog to keep herself from crying. Looking at Deputy Johnson while having this sort of conversation was not what she needed to top off today’s already horrible happenings. “Maybe I’ll come around soon with some cookies.” At that, the dog’s ears perked up. “You miss my cookies, don’t you? I’ll make some chicken broth ones just for you, if Adonis doesn’t get there first, okay?”

“Now, could the dog please do its _job_ instead of _wasting_ precious time?” Agent McCall was apparently still a total dick. Nothing new there.

“Of course,” Johnson tried to keep his voice neutral, yet having known the man for over ten years, Stiles heard a sliver of annoyance lacing his words. She also saw how the dog was torn between her and his duty, thus she got up from the floor when the deputy tugged on the leash. “C’mon boy, time for work, yeah?” Immediately, the Shepherd’s focus shifted and Stiles was reminded of how amazing police dogs were.

“And you are pestering Deputy Parrish because?” Stiles now had McCall’s full attention, hoo-fucking-ray.

“She wasn’t pestering me, Sir.” And Parrish had decided to answer in her stead, because? “Miss Stilinski just said ‘hi’ and answered a couple of questions about Mr. Finstock.”

“ _Coach_ Finstock,” Stiles whispered alarmingly, “you never want him to find out that you called him _Mister_ , not ever. Because if he does, you’ll regret it.”

“I’m an officer of the law,” Parrish pointed at his badge in a self-explanatory manner.

“You. Will. Regret. It.” Stiles could only warn a guy so much. If he was set on the wrath of Coach, he would have to face him alone.

“Yeah, well, then I suggest that Miss Stilinski now returns to her lessons, so that we can do our jobs.” McCall was obviously irritated by their conversation. Who cared?

Stiles was tempted to retort that this was her lunch period, only to see what type of reaction this would get her from the agent. Why was McCall still in Beacon Hills, anyway? Had his superiors not noticed that the case had not progressed at all under the man’s leadership or rather the lack thereof? The girl had never understood why the FBI had offered McCall a job in the first place all those years ago. The quality of his work at the station had been mediocre to put it politely. He had had the nasty habit of considering himself above everybody else, hence dealing with such low folks as drunks and prostitutes had been beneath him and influenced his interest in serving his community quite negatively.

Her dad had always treated everybody with respect. To him, people had never been simply good or bad; they had just been living under different circumstances. Stiles had been raised to respect those circumstances and the people suffering from their outcome. By doing that, she had even made something akin to friends among the more _frequent visitors_ at the station, much to her father’s chagrin. Although, her dad had not been one to complain, particularly given the fact that, in the past, some of the delinquents had actually refused to be processed by anybody but her father. It was nice to know that people, even the ones at odds with the law, were still capable of trusting a police officer.

So, where was she supposed to have lunch now that the library was off limits? She could go to the cafeteria like everybody else, but that entail mean sitting at a table with other people. Other people who would probably try to talk to her. The cafeteria was off limits as well, then. Which left her with the options of the great outside - where it was freezing -, an empty classroom - where she would feel nothing but weird because of all the empty chairs -, the basement - where horrible things had happened - or one of the many storage closets not being occupied by desperate horny teens. To the storage closets it was!

If she actually managed to find one just to herself, it might provide her with just enough time to process today’s happenings and the events of yesterday as well. It still astonished her how, on the one hand, her uncle was set so against her solving this riddle, yet on the other hand, he was doing research himself…

+++++++++++++++++++++ (flashback to previous weekend)

It was 10.26 pm on Sunday evening and while Stiles’ body might be both tired and exhausted, her mind was still mulling over the fact and figures from her homework as well as her research on Oni.

With PSATs on the horizon, she knew that she should focus more on school, yet how was she supposed to ignore recent developments regarding the supernatural population of Beacon Hills? According to her uncle, the Oni were not her problem right now and _wtf_?! This was not the kind of support she had been hoping for. Of course, the man was still pretty tight lipped about the whole messenger deal, but protecting innocent people could not be that far off the mark, right?

Stiles sighed, twisted around so that the comforter encased her legs tightly and glared at the nearest wall. Her uncle was most definitely the least supportive person in her quest to figure out these demons.

After she had told them about the attack at the party on Thursday, he had immediately laid down some ground rules. Ground rules. Like she was a freaking toddler! While the rules were simple, they were also totally unnecessary, if one asked Stiles.

She was not to obsess over research. Schoolwork came first and would not be tossed aside for potential supernatural threats. Household chores would not be neglected, either. The normal world had absolute priority.

He had not been too fond of her protests that her normal world consisted of werewolves and banshees and evil people. Naturally, the man had not taken any of that arguing. Fine, she was smart enough to know not to antagonize him and had decided to follow the rules. Neither household chores nor homework would have been able to keep her busy for that long anyway and Stiles had managed to get a fair share of research done over the past couple of days. Although, Stiles had not found anything useful thus far…perhaps due to all the anime that had popped up during her research and she had had to watch it because of possible helpful information. Her uncle had not been a huge fan of her _wasting_ time like that without offering any help with her research.  

So, yesterday evening, she had simply wanted to ease her mind a little bit by reading only a tad more. At half past one in the morning. Which, technically, made it early this morning, but who cared for such details? There had been nothing wrong with that. It had not been the first time that she had done something like that. Also, were teens not supposed to be up all night from Saturday to Sunday? So, she had done nothing wrong and she would have gotten away with doing nothing wrong, if it had not been for the dog. Adonis would not be allowed to sleep in her bed for at least a week. That should teach him.

_After she began with her research session in the early morning hours - people were supposed to get up early anyways, so there had been nothing wrong that either - Adonis grumbled at first. The light from her desk lamp and her laptop were possibly a bit too bright for the Doberman’s liking. So, he could turn around but no, he had to get up to stub his cold wet nose against her upper thigh with a pitiful whine._

_Come to bed, he said, let’s go to sleep!_

_Stiles ignored his complaint, focused on her work instead and eventually, Adonis staggered out of her room. Thinking that he had decided on sleeping in his own bed - for once - the teen returned to another reading about Japanese mythology. She never saw it coming._

_“What are you doing there?” Mikhail leant against her doorframe, tiredly running a hand over his face._

_“You traitor.” Stiles sent Adonis a leveled glare and luckily for him, he was sane enough to look apologetic from behind the man’s legs._

_“Now, don’t blame this on him,” her uncle’s voice sounded heavy with sleep as he stepped closer to her, already eying the screen of her laptop warily, “he just wants to make sure that you get enough sleep.”_

_“No,” Stiles crossed her arms indignantly, “he just wants to make sure that he gets enough sleep. And since he likes to sleep in my bed,” she shrugged, “I can’t help the fact that I like to study at unusual hours.”_

_“And for what class exactly do you need information about,” it took Mik a moment to adjust his eyes to the brightness of the screen, “demon gates?”_

_“For Survival Class?” Yes, Stiles knew that she might be in trouble. Not only had she attempted to hide her research from him, even worse, he had been woken in the middle of the night because of her and the man liked his sleep._

_“Survival Class?” Seeing through the lie at once, Mik cocked up his left eyebrow. “And who’s teaching that? I’d like to have a word with them, if it means that you’re up in the middle of the night.”_

_“No one’s teaching. It’s kind of an autodidactic class.” Oh, she was so in for it._

_“Zdzi?” The light coming of off the laptop screen cast deep shadows along his figure, making him appear way older than 37. “Shut it down and go to bed.”_

_Well, that was just…_

_“No, you’ll go to bed now.” She had not even said a thing! How…?! “And if you won’t I can always change the Wi-Fi password for the night.”_

_“You can’t do that!” Cutting her connection to the world? Her uncle’s judgment might be impaired by the early hour and the fact that he had been woken up mere minutes ago, but that was drug lord behavior!_

_“Yes, I can and I’d like to think of it as effective.” He reached over, hit a few keys and shut down the machine. “And if you don’t go to bed right now, I might decide to change the password for more than just a night so that you won’t be able to access anything for the rest of the weekend.”_

_“Who are you and what have you done to my uncle?” Stiles looked in shock at the man. “That’s against human rights.”_

_“Go to bed, Zdzi,” he was already leaving her room, hence her glare only met his retreating back, “and internet access is not a human right, it’s a first world problem.”_

_After fuming silently in her desk chair, the girl settled on going to bed. No need to vex her uncle further, internet access was way too important for that._

_As she cuddled back into her covers, Adonis put his muzzle on the edge of her mattress._

_“What do you want?” Of course, she knew what he wanted, but she was still mad at him. They were supposed to stick together and not to tattle on each other. “No, you go sleep in your own bed. It’ll be a great learning experience for both of us.” Adonis looked at her like the most unfortunate puppy in the world before eventually leaving her room, head bowed deep._

_Needless to say, it took Stiles forever to fall asleep without the warmth of Adonis pressed against her legs, his light snoring and his overall presence. All members of the Stilinski household were thoroughly sleep-deprived throughout Sunday._

And now? Stiles still couldn’t sleep. Adonis was upset because she was mad at him. Uncle was somewhere in between mad and annoyed because she had not followed his rules and, yes, those things bothered her and kept her from finding much needed rest.

Reaching for the water bottle beside her bed, Stiles realized with a groan that said bottle was empty, hence she got up to retrieve a new one from their pantry. Even if the nocturnal temperatures knocked below the forties these nights, the inside of the house was still warm enough to allow trudging around in her pajamas without getting the chills.

As the girl headed for the stairs, she noticed the door leading to the office standing ajar, with light streaming from the room into the hallway. It seemed like she was not the only one unable to sleep tonight.

“Hey.” She stepped carefully into the room and noticed with mild curiosity that her uncle’s desk was covered in books and notes strewn around his MacBook. He was holding a magnifier in his right hand to examine the pages of a book more closely.

“Hey,” putting the magnifying glass down, Mik watched the girl traipsing towards him. Her Captain America pajamas hung loosely around her thin body. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nah.” Adonis stopped chewing on his Barkworthies stick when the brunette plopped down on the floor close to him. She folded her arms over her legs while the Doberman obviously tried to figure out whether or not he was forgiven.

“And why’s that?” Mik put the book aside as he turned to his niece sitting on the floor. Her clothes pooled around her, making her appear much younger than 16. He smiled slightly when he caught Adonis carefully crawling into the girl’s direction. The dog had suffered all day from the lack of her affection. Moving to Beacon Hills surely created a monster!

“Because you’re mad at me for not sticking to the rules?” Stiles pretended not to notice how the dog inched closer to her as though he was on a stealth mission.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Yeah, right. So, you’re annoyed, then.” The girl stretched out her legs, offering Adonis more snuggle up space. By now, she knew that dogs were not always about petting. Most times, it was simply about being close. Physical proximity meant comfort and safety. Although, she highly doubted that Adonis would ever pass up a belly rub.

“I’m not annoyed, either.”

“Then, you are what?” The dog had miraculously managed to plaster himself to her legs like a leech. He was probably trying to melt into her but he looked rather content doing so.

Mik scratched along the stubble on his jaw line.

“Before I came here,” he stifled a laugh when he saw his dog having reached his goal, “I had a fair idea of what Beacon Hills was like. They made sure to inform me and, I must admit, it sounded busy. All the supernatural I had to deal with back in Florida were some Naga and the occasional swamp creature. Everything else was rather basic. Not too demanding. Almost relaxing in comparison to the shit happening during WWII. And I guess I haven’t realized yet what living in a town with an active Nemeton means. It’s been a long time since I was stationed somewhere even remotely near a true sacred place and, not to mention, one that actually held power. Once, they were many places all over the world like Beacon Hills. In fact, there were so many that the evil had no need to literally invade one particular place. But as cultures and religions grew, vanished and developed all the same, these places were slowly forgotten and died. Thus, today,” shrugging reminded him of how long he had been sitting at his desk already. The muscles along his back felt way too tight by now.

“There are hardly any left.” Stiles finished his sentence. “And the few that still exist are even more attractive because of it.”

“Yeah. But that doesn’t explain why the Oni would be willing to leave the boundaries of their home country. There are still more sanctuaries all over Asia than in North America. So they must be here for a reason unrelated to the Nemeton.”

“How do you know so much about Oni?”

Mikhail chuckled while gesturing at the volumes covering his desk in a ‘ _you saw these, right?_ ’ kind of manner. The teen stared at him confusedly before her mind caught up with the new information. Carefully, she detached herself from the furry body glued to her side, gaining her some protest and stepped up to the desk, taking a closer look at the books and notes layered on top of each other. As she regarded the depictions and descriptions with disbelief, her uncle explained.

“I know that your dad didn’t really have the time to tell you everything and, to be honest, I’m not allowed to tell you all that much, either, but I can assure you that both your father and I have been around for some time and we encountered a lot of things. Now, it’s been centuries since the last time I crossed paths with any Oni, yet some things stick. Also, the Powers have compiled a rather impressive archive about all things supernatural that’s open 24/7.”

“There’s a library filled with nothing but information about mythology, creatures and anything beyond human imagination?” Stiles spoke in a hushed voice. Her focus was entirely on the books and scrolls in front of her. Hardly any of them were written in English, adding an air of foreignness to the ink.

“Botany, history, astrology, astronomy,” he could see how mesmerized his niece was by the ancient texts, “they’ve got data about pretty much anything. Both written and unwritten.”

“Unwritten?” Curiosity marred her face as she looked at her uncle. She had to get a library card for this place. _Now_!

“Unwritten.” Mirth danced in his blue eyes. “I requested information about Oni the day you mentioned their appearance. Their behavior seems odd. They obviously want something, hence the attacks, yet the marks they leave are unusual.”

“So they’ll continue attacking people until they’ve found what they’re looking for?”

“Probably.”

“And what are we going to do about it?” Leaning against the desk, Stiles watched her uncle stand up from his chair.

“You,” he gently held her by her upper arms which felt too small under his touch, “are going back to bed now, while I do some more research.”

“How am I supposed to go back to bed, when there are ninjas running around town marking people?” The girl was taken aback by the ease Mikhail displayed. “I can’t do that. I’m not going to let people down, again.”

“Niece,” the man sighed while carefully steering and pushing the girl back into the direction of her room. He did not want to look at her right now. It was wrong. He should not have to resort to such actions, “you’re not letting anybody down but yourself. You worry about yourself. You deal with your own demons before you tackle the Japanese ones. Have some faith in other people’s skills, okay?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust others,” Stiles’ complaint was interrupted by a yawn. All of the sudden, she felt really tired.

“Good, so do me a favor and ask Lydia about the Oni’s appearance the next time you see her, okay?” He was already busted, so why not ask for a favor while he was at it?

“Lydia said they were all dressed in black, black masks….” The idea of falling into her bed was so appealing. To be covered by comfy blankets with her head nestled on her soft pillow…so appealing.

“Yes, but did they look identical or only similar?” They had reached the teen’s room and Mik could sense the tiredness spreading through her body.

“I can ask Lydia,” Stiles all but fell onto her bed, mumbling against the covers, “why’s that important though?”

“If they have a similar appearance, it means that they’re independent beings,” Mikhail gently pulled the blankets out from underneath his niece and arranged them around her, “but if their appearance is identical it means that somebody created them.”

“You can create these things?” Blinking against sleep attempting to conquer her eyelids, the girl lost the battle rather quickly. “How?”

“It takes a lot of power and knowledge to create a void spirit and if they were created this becomes a whole ‘nother ballgame.”

“But if they were created, for what purpose would somebody do that?” Stiles was talking more to her pillow than to her uncle at this point.

“Someone who doesn’t want to get their hands dirty.” After Mik adjusted the comforter one final time, he smoothed a strand of hair out of her face, causing his magic to lull her further into sleep. “Just trust me, okay? I’ve got experience with these sorta things.” Within seconds, the girl was sound asleep.

When Adonis settled on the bed, the dog gave him a disapproving look.

“Oh, don’t you dare,” Mik chided the dog, “We both know that she’ll be pissed enough at me as it is.”

Both his brother and his sister-in-law had warned him that sooner or later, he would have to use magic on the girl and he had simply shrugged it off, telling them that he would not let it come that far…and here he was…Zdzisława was in for some amazing Christmas gifts this year.

+++++++++++++++++++++ (back to Monday/present day)

The crisp air laid first tendrils of frost onto the trees and their long-lost leaves rotting away at their feet in silence.

Summer had left Northern California weeks ago, thus moonlight was no longer obscured by heavy foliage as it cast wicked shadows of branches across the forest floor which would move like a twisted shadow puppet show.

There was no sound but the wind playing its impious tunes blowing through the undergrowth.

There was no sound but the buzzing Lydia was able to feel running over her skin.

There was no sound but the voices begging for help, for mercy, for life. Calling for her. Waking her up.

As the banshee took in her surroundings, she noticed the burnt out husk of a once grand house right in front of her.

The Hale house.

How had she gotten here?


	14. Nov 9th, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m still alive! And this thing is going to get done one day. I swear! Also, there’s almost an entire year until season 5 airs, so I really feel the need to fill that hiatus with fanfiction. I’m very glad about you guys and girls bearing up with me, I know how frustrating it is, if somebody just won’t update their story, but at the same time, I think you all realize that I’m also having this thing called life and at times, that just catches up to me.
> 
> I would like to say that this chapter is longer as some kind of apology, but it really isn’t. It just went on and on and on…I might suck at editing, I’ll admit :) Even though I really should get better at editing bc reworking 12.500 words to match this Richt Text Editor is horrible and makes me dread writing long chapters...I have to learn to do without italics...
> 
> BUT, even though my updating policy is horrible, there are still two more people who subscribed to the story (dear Anons, thank you!), and SickleWolf, me_myself_and_ink and waterbendingmiko bookmarked the series. waterbendingmiko even bookmarked the story and gave kudos, as well as W_I_L_L_I_S and Stary_night.
> 
> A huge THANK YOU to all of you! Please enjoy this chapter - it means that this story is fifty percent done! And I’m trying very hard not to think about the fact how long it took me to even get there…you’re all saints for your patience!
> 
> So, here we go, chapter 14^^

The routine had been established when Mikhail had still been a teenager: he would get up early in the morning, usually around 5.30 to 6 am and take the dog for a morning run. At age 16, there had been a time when his mother had been down with a nasty cold and his father’s work shifts had hindered him from overtaking this chore. Although, it had never been a chore to take care of the dogs, to be honest.

The Stilinskis had always had dogs. Mik had grown up with a gorgeous shepherd mix named Lincoln. Having been around a dog had introduced him early to the meaning of ‘ _taking care of somebody else_ ’. Of course, his parents and older siblings had done most of the work including the dog, yet it had always filled him with pride when he had been allowed to walk the dog under the watchful gaze of his parents. It was due to Lincoln that Mik had made Little League, since the dog had loved a decent game of fetch which included a good throwing arm. Lincoln had died when Mik had been 10 - nobody would have ever imagined that the three-legged shelter dog would live way past his 14th birthday - and the mere thought of losing a loved family member was still causing a shiver to run down the man’s spine almost 30 years later.

About half a year after Lincoln had passed away, Sissy and Einstein had joined the Stilinski household. Two bigheads from the same litter. Great dogs. And sometime during his sophomore year, Mik had taken over the duty of the morning walk. Well, at first they had walked, but given the fact that both dogs had been rather energetic, walking had quickly developed into jogging and eventually running. To quote his father ‘ _Real man run. It’s good practice for avoiding your woman, if you’ve fucked up. If she’s the one for you, she’ll give you a head start_ ’. Up to this day, his mother usually announced whether or not his father was in trouble.

The only time living without a dog - at least this lifetime around - had been after Mikhail had moved out of his parents’ house. His employer had not allowed dogs at the shop for security and insurance reasons and Mik had hated the idea of getting a dog only to leave it alone for most of the day. Dogs were companions, cats were roommates. And while the man did not have any problems with cats, he still preferred dogs. So, after he had opened up his own shop and installed a proper space for the dog adjacent to the small building, Mik had gotten Penny from a shelter. Penny had been a blue colored Pit bull mix with only one and a half ears and an under bite. She had been absolutely perfect. Unfortunately, their time together had been cut short by a devious cancer.

And now, there was Adonis.

The house was quiet as the man walked down the hallway towards his niece’s room to pick up the dog. The Doberman was still rather fond of being allowed to sleep in one of his humans’ beds, hence his own doggy bed lay discarded in the living space downstairs. Perhaps this would provide Mikhail with the chance to finally replace this disgusting piece of fabric and leftover cushioning. It was a sorry excuse for a bed and quite the eye sore by now after years of use, yet Adonis would not accept anything besides the bed he grew up with. Mik had tried, he really had. Many times. Many times that had always ended in sleepless nights filled with pitiful whines, causing him to cave in.

As he neared Zdzi’s room, he suppressed the urge to sigh the moment he noticed a faint light casting shadows along the frame of the slightly ajar door. They had had this discussion several times over the past couple of days.

_Well_ , he thought, _we’ll just have to have it for one more time, I guess. For the last time since this goddamn test is today_.

The PSAT. He grimaced at the memory of those mandatory standardized tests. Of course, as a resident - _former_ _resident_ , he reminded himself - of the wonderful Sunshine State, neither the PSAT nor the PLAN had been mandatory for him while attending High School twenty years ago. God, he was getting old. However, his parents had insisted on him participating as part of the preparation for either the SAT or the ACT in senior year. Mik had opted for the PSAT and the additional TSWE…why were people so fond of abbreviations anyway?

It did not help that his niece was obsessing over the upcoming test. Every night for the past week, he had had to check up on her at random times to make sure that she had actually gone to sleep and had not managed to sneak in any books. Luckily, Adonis had helped him with his quest.

Evidently, Zdzisława had soon figured out that if she went to bed on time, she could always get up earlier and study before school in the morning. The girl had gone to bed at 8.30 pm the previous Wednesday. 8.30 pm! Mik had a difficult time not contacting his brother about this odd behavior, yet he figured that asking Maksym for advice would only make the separation harder on him. Claudia had informed him that she tried to keep her husband busy in order to distract him. After all, she had some experience since she had been forced out of her family’s life for almost a decade. In a rather entertaining twist of events, Maksym now even cogitated about joining political circles after centuries of refusing.

It was no surprise to Mikhail that when he opened the door, he immediately saw his niece sitting at her desk, marker in one hand, her fingers tracing lines over the books and notes scattered in front of her. The desk light was on a low setting providing her with just enough brightness to study while the room remained dark enough to allow Adonis to sleep. The dog blinked at him tiredly and yawned before standing up on the bed to stretch. Sensing the change of his position, the girl turned around. A pencil was stuck between her lips. She looked worn.

“Good morning,” Mik sighed as scratched along his chin, “for how long have you been up this time?”

“For about,” Stiles’ pronunciation was surprisingly clear despite the pencil, “an hour or so? I didn’t check when I started.”

“I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again,” Adonis lazily slouched towards Mik, “it’s only a test. The idea that one single test is going to determine your entire life is simply wrong. I’ve got no idea why schools insist on brain washing kids like that. Don’t stress over it, there are more important things than a stupid test and you know it.”

Taking the pencil out of her mouth and putting it onto her desk, the teenager scratched her head. “I know,” she admitted, biting her lips nervously, “it’s just…this”, Stiles gestured at the papers on her desk, “is something I’m usually good at. Tests, you know? Having the answers to all the questions. It’s just…it makes me feel less,” bony shoulders twitched, “ it lets me know that that I can at least succeed at something and I find that comforting. So, yeah, I stress and obsess because, well…I just want to do well, okay? Also, if I don’t do well on stuff like this, you’ll get to hear all about it during parent-teacher conferences next week.”

The man made a face at the mentioning of this particular date. His first parent-teacher conference ever. On the one hand, he was curious to meet Zdzi’s teachers and to talk about her academic development; on the other hand, he remembered all too well how he had felt when his parents had attended those conferences. One never knew what those teachers might have in store.

“Just go shower and get ready, yeah?” He managed a hopefully supportive smile as he vanished into the hallway. Then, he abruptly turned around and popped his head back into the room. “And don’t obsess over whether or not you’ve packed everything you need, understood? I know that you’ve already packed all of your stuff. You made me check everything according to the list the school sent us via newsletter. Twice.”

“I’ll go shower and get ready,” Stiles rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her pajamas, “you go outside where it’s cold and dark.”

“No need to remind me,” Mik grimaced. North California was…not like South Florida. The last time he had been on Skype with his sister, she had commented rather blatantly on the fact that his skin tone had been a bit off and inquired whether he had been sick. He had informed her that he had not been sick but the victim of Northern Californian weather.

As he descended the stairs, he saw Adonis already sitting by their coat rack, waiting for him right next to the wicker basket Zdzisława had picked up at their Halloween candy trip to Kroger. It contained the clothes Jelena had sent about a month ago. The clothes Mik had refused to put on his dog. The clothes said dog had refused to take off once they had put them on him due to the freezing weather.

Adonis had apparently enjoyed the extra protection the fleece and neoprene provided to the point where he would now insist on wearing them around the house as well. Zdzisława drew a line at him sleeping like that in her bed, though, claiming that the dog would overheat. To everybody’s surprise said dog had actually looked like he considered not sleeping in her bed in favor of wearing his hoody further. Eventually, the bed had won, although it had been a tough choice. Adonis really took comfort in his clothes and would only be willing to undress if they were either wet or dirty.

“So, which one is it gonna be today, hm?” He petted the dog while taking the soft shell jacket out of the basket. It was watertight, therefore the slight drizzle would not dampen the Doberman’s fur all too much and since it was also breathable, Adonis would not suffer from heat stroke. The dog easily accepted the garment being put onto him. “Come on, then.”

Mik attached the collar and the leash before strutting towards the front door. The moment he opened it, he was greeted with thick raindrops cascading down from the sky. He prayed that this would not be an omen seeing that things were already spinning out of control.

Over the past couple of weeks, almost two dozen people had been reported missing. So far, only seven of them had shown up again. Five of them had been dead. There was also a series of black outs all across town. Then, there were the Oni. As he stepped outside, the rain immediately pounded onto his body.

Mik knew that his magic was still lingering enough for his niece to diminish her interest in the Oni and researching them, however, just like the rain was cleansing the ground, it was steadily slipping and he could not risk keeping her permanently under its influence. Hopefully, the Council would stop rejecting his requests for a hearing before it was too late.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Of course, Stiles was struggling to resist the urge to check over the pieces inside her special PSAT pencil case yet again. It was too unnerving not to do it. In particular when the pencil case was right there…in her bag…which she had place on top of one of the kitchen counter chairs…in plain sight from where she was preparing their breakfast.

_God, I’m screwed_! The girl fought the urge to run a hand over her face - she might be getting better and faster at this whole makeup deal, but she definitely did not have the time to ruin and redo it all over again. Especially not when she was busy making breakfast. Leaving the guys hungry would not happen on her watch, so she focused on cracking another egg into the pan and no, she was not casting the occasional glance at her bag. No-oh. So not doing that.

Besides, Stiles knew the contents of her special PSAT pencil case inside and out, anyway. And she highly doubted that they had rearranged themselves magically since the last time she had checked them, which had been a little over an hour ago.

Within the clear pencil case were three already sharpened pencils (No. 2 of course) and matching pencil grips which were essential given that her fingers were most likely going to freeze around the wooden sticks as though her life depended on it. Then, there were two erasers: one that was a boring plain white and one that was a cute ice cream bar and yes, Stiles was no longer adamant to calling it cute. It was cute and it made her smile and her cousin had gotten her a whole bunch of food shaped erasers and that meant it was fantastic. Of course, she had included a small hand-held pencil sharpener since she did not trust the school to provide one in every classroom - simply because they were broke - her calculator, just in case, and some snacks and an extra drink. The newsletter had said that students were allowed to have some sort of nutrition in the room, yet they were only allowed to munch during the small breaks in between test sections. Also, the girl packed her ID and her new medication.

Dr. Meyers had left her with some new pills with strict instructions: she was only allowed to take one of them at a time - never more - to avoid an oncoming panic attack. When Stiles had read the label stuck to the little orange tube, she had whistled out loud. These puppies would be able to bring down a werewolf. She had never heard of this particular brand and she had had her fair share of exposure to narcotics, tranquilizers and such over the past couple of years until they had finally found something that would not mess too much with her Adderall and or her body in general. So maybe this stuff was new in the ever-growing market of benzodiazepines, who knew? It was only a matter of time until they would legalize cannabis for more than medical uses anyway - California was progressive like that - so the pharmaceutical companies better made their money while they still had a chance.

“You’re thinking about it.”

Stiles simply glared at her uncle while scrambling the eggs some more before putting the pan into the kitchen table, right next to the bacon, the syrniki, the jam and some cut up fruit. Cooking distracted her perfectly, so what? She pretended not to notice the gleeful expression crossing her uncle’s face as he sat down at the table. Of course, she had already poured him a cup of coffee.

“I was also thinking about having vegetable burgers for dinner. Something healthy, you know?”

The man did not even bother to look up from his plate as he piled crispy bacon chunks on top of his eggs. “Burgers sound amazing, but why ruin them with vegetables?”

Stiles snorted. This one would require some more work than her dad. Oh well, she had got time. The girl layered her syrniki with fruit and took a bite.

They ate in silence. Well, as in silence as it could get with the sounds of her uncle greedily devouring his breakfast and the occasional exclamation of how good the food was. It was comfortable, though and for Stiles to actually find comfort in silence, well…as Dr. Meyer said, she was progressing.

+++++++++++++++++++++

When the truck took a sharp turn into the drop-off lane, Mikhail noticed how Zdzi was nervously playing with the seat belt. The PSAT started at 8 am sharp. Students were to report to their assigned classroom at 7.45 am, so that testing would not be delayed. The newsletter had been rather clear about attendance and being on time. Once that door would close, it would stay closed until the test was over.

Checking his watch, he saw that it was not even half past seven, yet. Zdzi had insisted on leaving early, hence she was now facing about thirty more minutes of freaking out. Mik wanted to reach out in order to use a calming charm on the girl, however the mantra of ‘ _no more magic than absolutely necessary_ ’ weighed heavy on his shoulders.

Apparently, parents were not too keen on dropping of their children earlier than required. The lane was deserted as usual at this time of the day. Only a few cars occupied the street, none lingered long in the drop-off area. People were simply bringing their kids to school without much ado about it.

“You’ll do fine.” Mik attempted to find comforting words for the teen as he pulled up alongside the curb, the engine still running.

Zdzisława fingered with her belt for a bit before eventually unbuckling it. She managed a nervous smile. “Okay,” picking up her bag and opening the car door, the girl gave her guys another look, “you have fun, today, okay? I want pictures.”

“Will do,” the man answered before the door slammed shut.

Of course, he was going to take pictures of his new shop. Who did she think he was?

As he watched the girl walk up to the school building, he shifted gears and joined the busy morning traffic on his way to the address that would become something akin to his second home for the next couple of years. The entire time, he prayed that Zdzisława’s nerves would not get the better of her. After all, Will had warned him that even though he had given them the new prescription, the girl was never to take any of those pills. When questioned, the good doctor had answered vaguely that he had a feeling about them needing the medication without taking it. Mikhail knew that the Powers worked in mysterious ways, however, could their calls not be more precise? Just once.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Stiles tapped her fingers against the bottle she held in her hand as she stood in line to enter the assigned classroom.

For the PSAT, all juniors had been divided into groups according to the alphabetical order of their last names. Of course, Beacon Hills was not a major city and there was only one High School in their little community of 30.000 people, but their year still consisted of 267 students. With a downwards tendency. After the series of murderers - thank you Miss Blake - a lot of people had either already moved away or were at least considering to leave, given the current situation that people still went missing only to show up dead later…

Stiles sighed as the line shifted. She could hear somebody bitching about having to turn off their phone and did not understand the problem. The newsletter stated pretty clearly that everybody would have to hand over their phone while the test took place. The strict testing rules were also the reason for her current footwear: ballet flats. Even though it was freezing - Stiles suspected the school to save on the heating this season - the girl had not been allowed to wear a pair of boots today and she would be damned, if she wore her heels to school.

Seeing that there was still a visible gap between her calves and the boot shafts, although her diet was improving greatly, the school automatically assumed that she would use the opening to smuggle a cheat sheet into the test. Hence, all open top boots were forbidden for the students participating in the PSAT, while tight fitted boots were allowed.

_Please_ , the girl rolled her eyes as she got closer to the door leading into the classroom, _if I ever cheated, I’d be more creative than using a simple piece of paper_.

Stiles took pride in her academic achievements, okay? She had never - never - cheated on a test before. Not once. And she did not plan on starting now, of all times. She knew that some people spent more time on preparing cheating techniques than on studying and while Stiles could appreciate their dedication to their cause, she just did not get it. Learning, understanding, analyzing, memorizing…all of those things came easy to her. Focus, now that was challenging and nerve-racking. Luckily, since this was a standardized test with multiple sections, there would be enough topics occupying her mind to keep it from wandering.

The line moved on and she was finally able to enter the room.

Coach and Ms. Martin had been assigned to their group. Coach was already eying everybody with his hawk-like gaze, as though he was able to determine the cheaters by a single judgmental look. Stiles had learnt early not to underestimate the man and his uncanny ability to simply know stuff about people. Of course, he was probably mostly worried about any of the athletes cheating. Sport was his religion. The field was his church. The more or less motivational outbursts were his prayers.

Ms. Martin seemed more relaxed and greeted the students politely with an encouraging smile. Why this woman had decided to grace the halls of Beacon Hills High School with her presence was a mystery. Lydia’s mother had been asked to join Mensa International in the summer before she had enrolled at Harvard University to major in Biology and Chemistry. It was needless to say that Natalie Martin had passed with flying colors and graduated top of her class. Following her graduation, she had immediately focused on her doctorate which she had earned in record worthy time.

This woman was cultured, sophisticated, patient…and how she managed to maintain her looks was beyond Stiles’ comprehension. Naturally, the teen knew that Lydia must have gotten it somewhere, still…if she ever wanted to even scratch at Ms. Martin’s appearance when she was in her early forties, she would probably have to sacrifice a baby first. Natalie Martin was very attractive and the brunette had no trouble admitting it.

Today, their substitute teacher was dressed in a gorgeous burgundy street length dress with shoulder caps and matching black velvet pumps. Although, according to the fashion blogs Stiles had been looking up occasionally, black pumps were the go-to shoes when in doubt. Looking down at herself, the girl wiggled her toes and felt the black tights chafe against her skin. Tights were amazing for additional warmth, yet so weird to get used to. The beige lace ballet flats were hardly worn, either. Lace. Stiles almost snorted at the thought. Who would have ever thought that she would wear anything lacey? Not her.

Clean black skinny jeans, a dark blue Henley - with a black singlet underneath - and her gray paisley infinity scarf completed, well… Stiles liked to think of it as an actual outfit. Cousin Oxana still insisted on getting an OOTD Snapchat every day and she tended to compliment on Stiles’ fashion choices.

She now had fashion choices.

That would still take some time getting used to.

Before, Stiles had not dressed. She had put on clothes to achieve coverage of her body. Now, after, she actually dressed in the sense that she consciously decided for and against certain items. And her cousin had already announced - threatened - that Black Friday would end in a huge haul at Sawgrass. Well, at least it would give Stiles the opportunity to get new nail polish.

Looking at her KBShimmer Witchy Way nails, denying the fact that she actually enjoyed the multitude of colors and glitter that could adorn her phalanges seemed pointless. Adonis hated the stink of fresh polish and polish remover, so airing out her room had become mandatory unless she wanted the dog to end up whining in front of her door because even though he did not want to be exposed to the strong smell, he still wanted to be in her room. What a pampered pooch they had!

“Stilinski, Z…,” Coach’s stumbling over her first name brought her out of her reverie. She had made it to the check-in, finally.

“ _Stiles_ ,” the man exclaimed with a strained expression as he marked off her name on the list in front of him.

“Good morning,” the girl greeted Ms. Martin while handing her the PSAT pencil case. Coach reached for her snack and drink to examine them thoroughly. Ever since the school had learnt that cheat sheets could be printed on dupe bottle wrappers, their teachers had begun checking any drinks.

When Stiles’ survival package was deemed acceptable, she sent a look at Ms. Martin, who was eying the label of her medication critically. Of course, due to Ms Martin’s educational background, it did not take her long to understand what type of drugs she was currently holding. Upon noticing that Stiles was regarding her, the woman plastered a polite smile to her face.

_Great, my friend’s mother, who also happens to be one of my teachers, thinks that I’m a nut job, perfect._

“Are you required to take these regularly?” Ms. Martin’s interest sounded sincere, perhaps there was some concern lacing her word, yet Stiles had not been around her enough to be able to distinguish between the slight differences in her tone as of now.

“No, but I’m supposed to keep them with me all the time,” the girl heard someone in the line behind her sigh in annoyance at the exchange, “in case I have a panic attack. If I take a pill when I feel it coming, it should help me calm down in time.”

“And you know when you’re about to have an attack?” Ms. Martin was still holding the bottle.

“Yeah, I can usually tell.”

“Then, how about I keep these with me for now and if you need to take one, you tell me alright?”

Stiles did not need to know Ms. Martin to know a mom-voice. Mom-voices were universal. “Okay,” she tucked a strand of hair behind ear, accepted her pencil case and chose a seat in the half-empty classroom. All the seats besides the windows were already taken.

_Good_ , she thought, _nothing worse than the world outside to distract me._

Slowly but steadily, the rows were filling up and at three minutes to eight, the line of students waiting to report their attendance and to get their stuff inspected had dissolved entirely. Yes, there were the usual suspects tending to come almost too late at every occasion, but as far as Stiles could tell, their group was complete. Except for one student: Jonathan Semonoff.

And if Jonathan Semenoff was not on time for the PSAT, then, he was most likely dead. Jonathan was the ultimate school nerd. He was king of the school nerds - Lydia was their goddess, although that was not too important right now. What was important was that Jonathan was not present for the PSAT. Because not only was he a school nerd, he was also an elitist asshole about his academic achievement who regarded brown-nosing as social interactions. Jonathan would never miss out on the chance to surpass other people - and to remind them of his superiority - by participating in a standardized test.

Stiles briefly looked out of the window, almost expecting to see a pig fly by. Nah, no flying pigs which meant that this was really happening. Again.

They were piling up again.

The incident which had led to the library being closed had been the discovery of Dean Calvo’s body, a freshman whose older brother had graduated last year. The media had been all over it, especially since Dean was not the only body found within the week.

In the past 4 weeks a total of 18 people had been reported missing and so far, only 7 of them had been found, 5 of them dead. On top of that there were obvious problems with the various power stations scattered all over town. Naturally, the town was not wealthy, never had been, never would be. However, after the damages caused by certain supernatural related events, money was sparse, to say the least. The papers pretty much heralded about new savings programs, objectives, budgets and budget cuts. Hence, nobody was all that surprised that the city and pretty much every company in town invested less in maintenance. The black outs occurred sporadically and were never of the quality of the one happening on Halloween. Although, if Stiles understood correctly, that particular black out was also not a natural occurrence.

The clock struck eight and when Ms. Martin moved to close the door, Stiles could see how Coach was about to argue that their group was not complete, that Jonathan was missing. Coach might not be the biggest fan of people like Jonathan, however the man was all about fair play.

“It’s not eight, yet,” he told the woman while pointing at his watch.

Ms. Martin turned, obviously not amused by her coworkers audacity to temper with the timing. The clock mounted to the wall clearly showed that it was already 08.01am and she had no qualms informing Coach Finstock about this fact.

“Oh, that thing is broken, always has been,” the man tried to sound nonchalantly, yet anybody was able to see through the lie. Coach might be intimidating at times but not at Poker. He had the worst poker face ever. The simple twitch of his forehead and the quiver in his upper lip gave him away.

Ms. Martin raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow, graced him with a judgmental glare and turned to close the door.

The supposedly broken clock showed 08.04am when the door fell shut.

Jonathan was nowhere to be seen.

Coach fumed while reading out the instructions for the PSAT and settled on glaring poisonous daggers into Ms. Martin’s backside as she handed out the test sheets.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Mikhail bent over the sturdy folding table as he quickly wrote down the measurements he had just taken. Next to his papers lay the blueprints of the place.

His new place.

His new blacksmith’s shop.

Looking around the space, the man felt a little gleeful about the rather large building. Well, it was rather large in comparison to his old shop back in Florida, although the prices for rental space did not really compare. Beacon Hills’ property market was still suffering from the aftermath of Peter Hale, the Argents, the Alphas and the Darach. Crime rates had always influenced people’s choices in location.

Mik’s location of choice for his new shop was a bit on the outskirts of the city limits, roughly half an hour from Zdzi’s school and about 45 minutes from their home. The area was a good mixture of small businesses, some major stores and, to Mikhail’s relief, ample patches of green in between. Ample patches of green which were perfect for lunch strolls with the dog. He would have hated, if they had been forced to take the car to a nearby park every day. Of course, Mik would have done it for the sake of Adonis’ happiness, yet the prospect of enjoying the surrounding area seemed a lot more fetching.

Adonis was currently busy sniffing around the place, excited about exploring his new territory. Of course, the Doberman would not be allowed in the actual shop. It was simply too dangerous and most likely too loud for the animal, yet Mik already entertained the thought of constructing a nice outdoor kennel for Adonis to roam, if he got bored in the office room that Mik had planned for the front of the building.

It was comforting to know that, in Beacon Hills, he would not have to worry about leaving his dog outside without supervision since there were no pythons infesting the county. Those goddamn Naga trying to establish themselves in the Everglades! Why did they have to use the lesser species to pave their way? Luckily, Mikhail knew that the area was in good hands right now. So, he could focus on the prints and notes in front of him.

In the back, there were designated areas for storage, a changing room and a bathroom with a shower stall. The actual working area took up most of the space. Mik had already arranged for his machinery to be moved from Florida to California. The office, he had decided, would be furnished entirely new.

Since Mikhail managed the shop by himself, he would definitely need space for his desk and a small area for consultations. The paperwork was usually reserved for the afternoon. The ordering processes, payments, customer care…he had never felt like he desired help with any of this. Most of his customers chose to contact him either by e-mail or by phone anyway, however some people favored personal contact, especially first time customers who wanted to get an idea of the person responsible for the work. Handcrafted goods like knives, gates, sissy bars, even guns - although Mikhail refused to produce these anymore - were not cheap. The materials, the labor, the exclusiveness…he might not be rich but he was not starving either.

It was midmorning, Zdzisława should be about halfway done with her PSAT by now, when the generous windows in the front of the building gave view to a police cruiser pulling up along the curb. The blond grimaced as a deputy descended the vehicle. He had expected Nathan to come by sooner or later, however he had hoped that it would be later.

He quickly scribbled down another idea for a new showpiece in the front yard of his shop, when the young man knocked on the front door before entering the building. Mik had considered getting a door bell; although given the windows a bell seemed rather pointless.

“What do you want?” Mik pretended to be busy with his plans, barely sparing the deputy a glance. Adonis had trotted over to eye the newcomer warily from beneath the folding table.

“Nice to see you, too?” Nathan tried to fight the sarcasm lacing his voice with little effort. Yes, he was aware that his uncle did not appreciate his presence, still, he settled on a polite approach. “So, setting up your new shop?”

“Nathan,” Mik looked up briefly to see the younger man shift uncomfortably. Besides him, only the boy’s parents had the ability to instill the old childish habit. He knew that he should not revel in his little success, but he was only human after all, “don’t insult me by pretending that you’re just coming by to say hello.”

Nathan pursed his lips. “What do you know about the happenings as of late?” As a part of Beacon Hills’ police force, he had come across many inexplicable dead ends regarding their research on the current murder cases. Whatever was happening, it was not of a natural origin.

“Why should I know anything about what’s going on? I wasn’t send here to take care of the city. Neither were you.” Mik would not make this easy on the boy. Zdzi had told him about their encounter at school. Nathan was walking on very thin ice here, seeing that he was supposed to stay away from the girl as far as possible. They were not even supposed to be within the same state limits!

“Because whatever is going on is not natural. And McCall is suspicious about Stiles’ being involved with the murder series before this one.” To say that McCall was suspicious was an understatement. The agent was most likely creating a file consisting of nothing but the girl’s activities over the past year.

“That’s because McCall is an idiot. And you’re an idiot for assuming that I’m going to do your self-appointed job for you.” Mikhail did not even bother with the FBI agent anymore. There were ways to take care of people and even though he might not be proud of walking them, his niece and subsequently her safety were his first priorities.

“I’m not asking you to do my job.” Obviously, Nathan was annoyed by his uncle’s attitude, yet he was trying to stay calm for the sake of presenting the image of a responsible adult. Acting like a pouty child would merely reaffirm the other man. “But given that she was at the center of most supernatural occurrences over the past year, I was hoping you would have some piece of information for me. Something beyond the official statements and files.”

Adonis walked around the table, torn between the conversation and returning to exploring his new territory. He was not too familiar with Nathan, even though the young man was no stranger to him. They had met before, on occasion, yet Adonis did not seem to have any lasting memories of their past meetings. Hence, the Doberman eyed the deputy with mild curiosity while keeping his distance.

“So, decades of studying and experiencing the supernatural leave you incapable of dealing with this on your own, which is why you now require the help of a sixteen year old girl?” Mikhail rose from the table, arms crossed in front of his chest. His blue eyes were sending a look of mock disbelief at Nathan.

“Will you stop it?” The deputy was audibly losing his temper if his short clipped tone and the tight setting of his jaw were any indicator.

Adonis’ ears perked up immediately, picking up the tension radiating from Nathan. He growled lightly, yet his boss hushed him at once.

“Well, it was your decision to come here without contacting anybody first, without permission, going against the rules, exposing my charge to your presence, so what do you expect? To be welcomed with open arms? Think again. You said you wanted to help, but your presence is more of a hindrance than anything else. The rules have changed since you were born, Nathan. It’s not the way it used to be.”

“So, you’re not interested in putting an end to this madness?” Nathan snorted. “People are dying, you know?”

Mik raised his eyebrows, causing crinkles to cast lines of shadows over his forehead. His voice held concealed anger at his nephew’s audacity to question his moral code. “Thank you, I’m aware of that.”

“And you just don’t care about that?”

“What I care about is my niece, you sister,” the man slowly walked into the direction of the deputy, “she’s my priority and I’m not going to meddle with something, if it means risking exposure. I am responsible for her safety and I’ll be damned, if she gets snatched up because I was careless.”

“It has been decades since…,” Nathan regarded his uncle incredulously as he passed him. Mik was apparently headed for the front of the shop.

“It is still happening,” Mikhail had reached the future office of his shop and sent a stern look into Nathan’s direction, “knowledge such as this won’t get lost. It’s passed on. Centuries without proof will have to pass before people eventually begin forgetting. I’ve seen it happen, Nathan, I’ve seen what it does. I’ll keep her safe from that until she can do it herself.”

“What if something else happens?” Walking towards his uncle, Nathan gestured widely. “What if she goes missing? Within the past 24 hours, we had 3 - 3 - more missing people reports. All of them between ages 14 and 24. Whoever this is, they’re going for young people.”

“If she goes missing, I’ll track her down.” With that being said, Mik opened the front door, signaling with a simple flick of his wrist that Nathan had overstayed his welcome.

“And how would you do that?” Of course, the deputy took being kicked out in stride - it came with the job, after all.

“I’ve got my ways.” Mikhail smiled knowingly, revealing rows of pearly teeth.

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“Nathan,” he sighed heavily, “has the council contacted you, yet? I’ve been trying to get to them for some time now, but they just postpone every time. And your parents seemed very surprised when I asked about your stay in Beacon Hills.”

“You’re not going to help me, are you?” The young man pursed his lips.

“Nephew, you’re old enough to deal with these things on your own. She isn’t. Now leave, I’ve got work to do.”

+++++++++++++++++++++

The first four sections of testing had gone by smoothly. But now, with the Math section spread out in front of her, Stiles had come to a halt. A cold, full on halt.

The first few problems had almost flown by as her pencil had scratched swiftly over the answer sheet. And now, there was problem no. 7 and Stiles’ brain had decided to shut down.

Of course, having been taught to abandon a difficult question in favor of focusing on the next problem, Stiles had immediately moved on to no. 8…only to be drawn back to the previous problem. She closed her eyes and attempted to steady her suddenly rapid breathing. Obsessing over a single math problem would not help her right now.

_Move on_ , the girl told herself, _just let it go. You can always go back when you’re done with the other questions. Don’t stress. Just breathe and relax. Relax._

Her heartbeat sped up to match her breathing.

_Relax, goddamn it!_ Her fingers cramped around the pencil grip, causing her knuckles to stand out whitely beneath her skin that felt too tight.

She would move on to the next problem and solve this riddle! And she would not ask Ms. Martin for one of her pills seeing that she had never taken one of those before and that she had no idea how she might react to the medication.

_Perhaps_ , Stiles mused, _I should just take one at home to see what happens? Then, at least, I would know how strong they actually are. Judging from the formula, they should be pretty heavy stuff, but due exposure to Adderall for almost 10 years…focus, Stilinski! Focus! PSAT! Math! Go!_

Again, her eyes drifted towards the dreaded problem no. 7 and she scraped her front teeth angrily over her lower lip, taking her Tarte lip balm right off the skin. Perfect!

So, instead of focusing on the test, Stiles ran mentally through her current options. She could a) freak out about her disability to focus which would guarantee her a first experience with her new medication and she would probably never be able to finish the test. She could b) simply freak out without taking her new medication, which would also lead to her not finishing the test. She could c) just calm down which was not going to happen or she could d) try to focus by doing her breathing exercises which had ended in her having a horrifying vision the last time around.

The brunette pressed her eyelids shut.

She knew that she wanted to finish the test, so options a) and b) were not really options after all. C) was extremely unlikely. Which left her with option d).

_Well, perhaps it won’t end so badly this time._

Hence, Stiles sat up a little straighter, loosened her shoulders, let go of her pencil for a moment and forced her breathing to align with the mantra she kept chanting in her mind.

_In, two three, four, out, three, two, one. In, two, three, four and out, three, two, on. Just breathe. Breathe into your back. Breathe into your chest._

When Stiles opened her eyes again, her heartbeat as well as her breathing had evened out. She was still sitting in her classroom, everybody was bent over their test, the teachers were eying the students critically - nothing seemed off.

Smiling to herself, the teenager picked up her pencil once more and was delighted to find delicate lights dancing across the paper on her desk. When the tip of her pencil came closer to the luminous spots, they fanned out in a gorgeous pattern. The girl suppressed a victorious shout when she finally managed to catch one of the many lights. Then another and another. Every time she caught one with her pencil, the light would burst and the sensation would tickle against her skin.

The more lights Stiles snatched with her pencil, the more the paper changed into the negative of a star-map. Black dots on a white background. It was beautiful, even though the lights began to dwindle as their game continued.

Stiles was entirely immersed in tracing the final accumulation of lights in the upper left corner of her paper sheet, when suddenly, her star-map was pulled away from underneath her hands and at once, her mind snapped back into reality. The spell was broken.

Ms. Martin and Coach Finstock were collecting, in some cases forcibly taking, test sheets from students. Some people already discussed the test; others were trying to escape these discussions. After the last sheet had been handed over, Coach announced that they were allowed to leave.

As students were lining up to retrieve their phones, Stiles still sat in her seat, swallowing audibly the moment her eyes fell upon the clock on the wall.

It was 11.41am.

The test was over.

And she had spent the better part of the past hour playing with fireflies…

+++++++++++++++++++++

_Finally_ , Stiles thought the moment she closed her locker. The day was finally almost over and it was Friday, so everything she wanted to do for the reminder of the day before the weekend was to go home and to curl up on the couch with Adonis. Dogs were the best way of cheering up ever. They were like cute furry sponges for all the negative feelings a person might have. And Stiles had a lot of those today.

At first, there had been the horrible PSAT. Well, it had not been all that horrible. The first four sections had been okay, as okay as test could go anyway. Then, there had been the dreaded math section, which had ended in her having another sort of vision…or something. At least, it had not been as horrifying as the last time. No scary forest hallways and no bleeding mirror people. Stiles could do without that, thank you very much.

What she could have also done without today were _people_. Yes, Stiles knew that her social abilities were lacking to the point where she would willingly admit that they were pretty much non-existent. She had social anxieties, okay? So what? She was working on it, but miracles were the stuff that only ever happened in fairytales.

So, today was apparently ‘ _put Stiles in awkward social situations_ ’ day. At first, there had been Zack Westerhaus. Junior year, lacrosse and soccer player depending on the season, attractive, of average intelligence, popular the way successful jocks tended to be. It was needless to say that he had never spared a glance at Stiles, not counting the times when she had yelled at him for holding his stick the wrong way. Well, at the beginning of their lunch period, when Stiles had been looking for Lydia, Zack had decided to change the pattern of their interaction.

He had stepped up to the girl, which had intimidated her because she preferred her personal space to be…personal and had asked her about her plans for the weekend. Luckily, Stiles had never had any problems talking.

“Well, let’s see,” she had counted her train of thought off with her fingers, “today, my uncle’s going to show me his new shop, the dog needs a bath, I have to clean up the kitchen and my room and to work on an essay for History, a presentation for Econ and English. Tomorrow, we’ll be busy grocery shopping and preparing for our Thanksgiving trip to Florida. The patio and the backyard need to be prepared for winter and on Sunday, I’ll most likely work on Art History and Chemistry. Oh, and I’ve got another therapy session coming up.”

Zack had stared at her, in obvious amazement by her ability to maximize a single breath of air. However, he had recollected himself quickly. “You’ve got therapy?”

Of course, he had chosen that fact to dwell on. But then again, if presented with a string of new information, people tended to pick up on the last one.

“Yeah, my uncle insists,” Stiles had shrugged, “he just wants to make sure that I’m doing alright. It’s not so bad.”

“You’re living with your uncle now, right?”

“Yeah?” The girl had frowned at that. How would Zack Westerhaus, of all people, know something like that about her? “He moved here after Dad…well, he didn’t want to rip me out of here, so, instead of Fort Lauderdale, it’s still Beacon Hills for me.”

“Fort Lauderdale? Man, you got robbed.” Zack had laughed, yet it had not sounded as though he had been making fun of her. It had sounded…different…somehow.

“It’s okay. We’re going for Thanksgiving and winter break.”

“That’s awesome,” he had looked at her with…something she had been incapable of defining - it had been along the lines of mild interest but not quite, “so, if you’re feeling up for it, I’m having a party tomorrow. You know where I live, right?”

“Yeah,” Stiles had shrugged again, feeling tension in between her shoulder blades, “that corner house on Garfield and Monroe.”

“Yeah, that’s my house. So,” Zack had grabbed the strap of his bag, “you come by, if you want to, alright?”

“I’ll think about coming by,” the brunette had answered slowly, clearly dumbfounded by the turn of this conversation. She was pretty sure that after Zack had left, she had still stood there for several minutes while her mind had tried to process whatever had just happened. What had happened?

Stiles packed her notebooks into her bag. Zack Westerhaus had invited her to a party - that was what had happened. Why? Stiles had no idea. People were weird today, but at least Zack had been a nice kind of weird. Lydia on the other hand…

Lydia had been - how should Stiles put it? - acting like last year’s Lydia. Not on the pretending to be ditzy level, but on the aloof and arrogant level. It had been rather irritating for Stiles. For a moment there, the brunette had suspected that their encounter had been yet another day dream.

After Stiles had shaken off the daze Zack had left her with, she had continued her search for the strawberry blonde in order to discuss the current supernatural threat. Due to PSAT preparation, their get-togethers had dwindled to minimalistic texting which ought to change now that this stupid test was done - people were dying, after all.

When Stiles had found Lydia, the girl had been refreshing her light pink lipstick using the mirror inside her locker. Strangely enough, Angela Preston had been standing next to her and while Angela had talked about some Teen Vogue article, Lydia had looked as though she had been hardly paying any attention. Angela’s presence should have been enough of a hint for Stiles that something had been off-ish since Lydia had regarded the other girl as persona non grata after Angela had spelled details - made up by herself - about Lydia’s and Jackson’s break-up. They had been sort of fake friends before and, well, Lydia had not taken lightly to Angela having spread rumors about the former power couple.

Angela had noticed Stiles first and immediately rolled her eyes in annoyance.

Well, eff you, too, Stiles had forced herself to smile sarcastically at the bimbo. Although, the term bimbo did not do Angela justice. Instead, if Stiles gave it some thought now, she suffered from savant syndrome. No idea about grammar and math, yet Angela was able to recite every fashion and beauty article ever. Oh, and to use her daddy’s credit card to the max without any remorse.

“What do you want?” Miss Preston had voiced her disdain in an unpleasantly high-pitched nasally voice. “Don’t you have some weirdo convention to be at?” Of course, Angela had been the only one to laugh at her own attempt at joking.

Some people just make me sad, Stiles had thought.

“Unfortunately, not,” she had sighed, “because any convention would be better than having to look at this disgusting piece of carrot that’s stuck between your teeth. Seriously, how can you go running around with half a baby carrot in your mouth?”

Okay, to be honest, Stiles had exaggerated about the size of the tiny orange piece, however she had not been able to resist…and she had been rewarded at once when Angela’s eyes had widened in horror as the girl had clasped a hand in front of her mouth in an embarrassed manner. She had made a noise akin to a squeak and had vanished in a little dust cloud on her way to the girl’s room.

“Why do you always have to do that?” Lydia had not even eyed her sideways as she had rummaged through her locker. The tone of her voice had been…clipped.

“Why do I always have to do what?”

“Talk to people as though you actually have something to say.” The sound of the locker having been closed provided a fitting acoustic background for Lydia’s sentence. “It’s not like anybody really listens to you, anyway, so don’t act like it.”

“And what’s bitten you?” Having crinkled her nose at the sudden animosity lying in the air, Stiles had regarded her friend incredulously.

“A total psychopath which caused me to go crazy and it’s all because of you and your loser friend playing stupid games in the woods, and now excuse you, while I go to have lunch like a civilized person,” a perfectly coiffed curl had been thrown over a slim shoulder covered in Chanel, “at a table.” With that, Lydia had walked - or rather strutted - away on her Prada heels.

Stiles had stood in the hallway, entirely dumbfounded by the situation. It might have been a brief encounter, yet it had hit her nonetheless. Lydia had been…Lydia from before. And that…how? Eventually, someone had called her name and relieved her of her reverie. Having shaken her head lightly, Daniel had entered her vision, a look of concern having marred his features. Daniel had asked her, if she wanted to sit at his table for lunch. Stiles had frowned because while they had known each other on a superficial level due to Heath, they had not really talked ever since Heath had been murdered a couple of months ago after his birthday party.

Given the fact that she had had nothing better to do and that the floor of the library had become less welcoming with each lunch period she had spent there, Stiles had agreed and ventured into the cafeteria for the first time since reentering school life.

Upon stepping into the cafeteria, Stiles eyes had immediately swept over to the table where the pack normally sat only to find it occupied by another group of students. Having looked around the large area, she had discovered that Lydia had decided on having lunch at the popular table, while Allison and Isaac had sat together with people from the cross country team. Scott and Kira had been in the far corner of the room, entirely immersed in their sickeningly cute blooming romance. Something had churned within Stiles’ stomach, something ugly, and her lunch, even though Daniel and his friends had been rather nice and accommodating of her presence, had barely been touched.

_This is wrong,_ Stiles had chewed absent-mindedly on her pasta, _we’re supposed to be sitting together. Not like this._

At the end of their lunch break, said lunch break had gotten even stranger when Scott had jogged up to her in the hallway and had asked, if they could talk after their last block. About stuff. Whatever that had been supposed to mean.

Stiles had already texted her uncle that she would need about thirty more minutes than usual and with the weight of the day lying heavy upon her shoulders, she was now trudging to the classroom where Scott had wanted to talk.

Of course, the room was empty. She would have been surprised, if Scott had actually made it on time. He was not the most punctual person, that was a given, hence Stiles ventured towards the window, marveling at the world outside that was not school. The girl decided on giving Scott five minutes. If he did not show up within those five minutes, she would just leave. After all, he wanted to talk to her, so he might as well be on time for once. Or relatively on time.

Checking her phone for any new messages, Stiles came across Adonis’ latest Instagram post. The picture showed the Doberman standing in front of a row of doggy beds with the caption “ _Somebody says that I need a new bed. Why?_ #Icanalwayssleepinyourbed”. Stiles chuckled. This was a war that her uncle would never win. Adonis insisted on his old remains of a bed and the caption was pretty much on the spot. Why would the dog need a new bed, when he could literally always sleep in her bed? However, uncle would not give up hope. At times, Stiles pondered the idea of helping him on his quest, but for some reason, it made her feel like she was setting foot into his territory. More so than she already was, at least.

Teaching the dogs little tricks - Adonis could now do _touch, back up, tap_ and _hold_ , he was _so_ smart - on top of ordinary obedience training like _sit, lay down, heel_ and _stay_ had definitely come to her uncle’s attention. On the one hand, the girl felt like her uncle enjoyed knowing that she was able to handle the dog. On the other hand…Adonis was his dog, his companion and his responsibility and at times, Stiles got the impression that the reality of sharing his dog permanently with somebody else was challenging for the man. If they got another dog, Mik would not have to share, yet Adonis would probably eat that dog. He was still a little jealous whenever Skittles got more attention than him and Skittles was a plush animal that had been around for almost a month by now!

It was now 3.16pm and Scott was nowhere to be seen. Stiles sighed. What had she expected? She shouldered her bag and exited the classroom. The hallways were deserted and her steps echoed along the walls. She might as well be waiting outside on her uncle. It was not raining and the fresh air would be a welcome change to the stale fug lingering around the entire building.

When she stepped outside, crisp air surrounded her at once. It was unusually cold for this time of the year and the chill wind did not carry a hint of freshness but only little icicles prickling against her skin. Stiles had not mastered the art of applying blush yet, she was due for a lesson around Thanksgiving, however the air was cold enough to cause a healthy natural blush to color her cheeks. The girl drew her skater coat tight around her the moment the wind picked up slightly.

Walking towards the pick-up area, Stiles heard somebody calling her name from afar. Turning around, she saw Scott standing by the school entrance, obviously calling and gesturing. Of course, Stiles was familiar with Scott and his motions. He obviously wanted her to come over, nonetheless, after having waited on him in the classroom, she was not willing to walk back to the entrance.

“If you want to talk, you’ll have to come over because my ride arrives in about fifteen minutes,” with that being said, she continued her path. Seriously, if Scott wanted something, he might as well come and get it. Life was too short to spend it waiting!

Shortly after she had turned around, Stiles could hear the sound of boots hitting the pavement behind her.

“Just wait a moment.” The light jog had not caused any strain on Scott’s breathing. Why would it? Werewolves and their damn stamina.

“I already waited an entire moment in a classroom,” Stiles glared at him from the corner of her eye, “and now, I’ll go and wait for my uncle at the pick-up lane.”

“They found another body,” Scott whispered almost conspiratorially, scanning the area as though they were being spied on, “my dad got the call this morning. It’s the freshman who had been missing for about two weeks now.”

“So?” The girl sounded indifferently. “In case you haven’t noticed, there are finding bodies left and right at this point. You should know, given the fact that your dad is the lead agent on the case.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of why I wanted to talk to you.” Scott shuffled his feet slightly, scraping the soles audibly against the ground. “We’re having a pack meeting tonight to discuss a plan of action. Kira and Allison did some research on the Oni and…”

“Why would Kira and Allison do research?” Stiles interrupted him blatantly. “Why not Lydia? This is her forte, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but Lydia hasn’t really been herself lately,” Scott put his hands into his jeans pockets, “she’s struggling with her powers, you know? I mean, she tried at first to help, but then, Allison told us about her difficulties and when Kira offered, Lydia agreed with her doing the research. It makes sense, too. Like, the Oni are related to Asian mythology and since Kira’s family is Japanese they just thought…,” he shrugged, “you know.”

“And Lydia just let somebody else take this from her?” That did not sound like Lydia Martin. Lydia Martin took pride in her work and handing it over because of difficulties…this was definitely one of the stranger things happening in Beacon Hills.

“Well, Allison talked to her. So, pack meeting at seven? We’re meeting at Derek’s loft.”

“Why would you meet at Derek’s loft of all places?” Stiles pursed her lips in disdain.

“Why wouldn’t we? It’s got enough space and we don’t have a lot of other options.”

“ _Why wouldn’t we?_ Because people _died_ there, Scott! I still don’t get how you could party at a place where one your friends was murdered.”

For a moment, Scott looked sorrowful at the memory of Boyd before turning the puppy eyes on her. “We could really need your help, you always figure stuff out.”

“Yeah, well, right now, I’m still trying to figure out the reasons for getting out of bed in the morning.”

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t there,” remorse carried Scott’s words. “I tried, but I couldn’t even get onto the property. There was this wall…”

“The barrier, you mean? Yeah, uncle was a little overprotective in the beginning. The setting is lower, now.” Of course, uncle had told her about Scott’s visit and while Stiles had not been pleased to hear about her best friend being rebuked from her new home, she had understood his reasoning.

“How does your uncle even know about stuff like that? Is he some sort of wizard?”

The term wizard almost had Stiles laughing. She was not ready for this conversation yet, though, hence she decided on changing the topic. Hopefully, Scott would get the drift.

“Does your dad still consider me the main suspect?”

“What? No, he never did.” Scott was obviously surprised by the sudden question. Although, years of experience with an ADD ridden mind had taught him to simply go with the flow. “About my Dad, though,” he was abruptly rather awkward with the shift of their topic and Stiles could see something of the old sweet confused Scott shining through, “because he’s in charge of the investigation, he’s also in charge of all the evidence they find.”

“And?” None of the things Scott had said were news to Stiles. Her dad had been sheriff for over eight years, therefore the girl was sort of familiar with the investigation process.

“And, when Kira was kidnapped by Barrow, he took some pictures of her with her phone and now, they’ve got the in evidence lock-up.”

“As they should because that guy was plain crazy and his recent behavior might give more insight on his past crimes. People tend to work in patterns, you know?”

“Yes, but,” Scott bit his lower lip, “Kira really needs her phone back.”

Instead of commenting, Stiles settled on sucking in her cheeks, widening her eyes in mock surprise and simply glaring at Scott with barely concealed frustration. They had had a nice talk going and now this? There was a slight chance that she was making noises in the back of her throat.

“You see, it’s like this: Kira and her family, they’re hunters. They were originally samurai, well the women were more like warrior geishas,” Scott’s eyes lit up with an excitement that Stiles had not seen since…well, since Allison, “and they have been hunting demons for hundreds of years…”

“And that explains her need for her phone?” Yes, sarcasm was dripping heavily from her lips, yet why was Scott telling her any of this? What was the point?

“And her family, they believe in spirit animals. So when a hunter begins their training, they get connected to their spirit animal. It’s supposed to protect them. Like a patronus. Kira’s is a fox and it’s really beautiful. It glows around her, you have no idea. The first time…”

“Scott?” Stiles was not in the mood to listen to the boy’s encomium for his latest love interest. She had had her fair share of that during the Allison era, thank you very much. “Scott, I really don’t care for what she is or how she works. Onna-bugeisha or not. I don’t care. Just tell me what you want to say. I remember you mentioning a phone.”

“Well, the thing is, this whole guardian spirit thing is still new to her and she doesn’t know how to control it, yet. So, whenever people take pictures of her, the spirit shows up on the pictures like a light,” the teen sighed, “and my dad is really suspicious ever since the power station went up. So we have to get the phone back before he has a chance to look at the pictures.”

“So, get the phone back.” Stiles narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been to the station before, you know how to get in and out. Just do that and Kira’ll get her phone back.”

“But I have to get in without my dad knowing. After hours.” Scott did something with his eyebrows that, paired with the way he looked rather apologetically, caused Stiles to realize what this _talk_ was _actually_ about. Something cold ran over her skin at once.

“Well, you’re on your own then and given the fact that your father is in charge of the investigation, he’s got all the keys you need. You’ll just have to get them and if it’s really all that urgent, you might not want to waste any time getting them.” Stiles turned on the spot and walked briskly towards the pick-up lane. How dare he even…?!

“Stiles, wait!”

But Stiles had no intention of waiting. This conversation was making her very uncomfortable and Dr. Meyers had told her that it was okay to retreat, if the situation called for it. This situation was definitely calling for it!

“I just thought…”

“You just thought what, Scott? That I would gladly help you break into the station because your new girlfriend’s got some overexposed photos on her phone? Well, think again! I’ve got enough things to worry about besides somebody’s phone!” God, she was livid! This day had been stressful enough, she did not need this as an icing on the cupcake.

“Well,” apparently, Scott realized his mistake.

“Just go, Scott. It seems like someone is looking for you.” Stiles nodded into the direction of the school entrance. Kira was standing outside, playing with the black pearl pendant she always wore on a long chain around her neck and watching them carefully. Upon being noticed, she immediately averted her eyes ruefully.

“Um,” the dark-haired teen wetted his lips, struggling whether to go or not, “I’m taking her home. Her dad has to stay longer due preparing the teacher-parent conference.”

“Then go and take her home.”

“O-okay, I mean, yeah,” he rubbed his neck nervously, “so, pack meeting at seven, yeah?”  
“Just go, Scott.”

With one last parting glance, Scott turned around and jogged over to Kira. Stiles rolled her eyes at his retreating back. Aaaaand he’s ditching me again. Allison 2.0 in the making, ladies and gentlemen.

When she finally reached the pick-up area, her uncle’s truck was just crossing the lane to halt by the sidewalk. Stiles trotted up to the vehicle and got straight into the backseat.

“Don’t ask,” she murmured the moment she put her arms around Adonis’s neck and hugged him, her body halfway lying across the entire length of the seat. The dog adjusted his position immediately, leaning against her embrace. “Just drive.”

Mikhail observed the kids in the back of his truck with mild concern, yet he refrained from asking. It must have been one hell of a day to trigger this behavior off his niece. “Please fasten your seatbelt, okay?”

“Okay.”

Needless to say, Stiles would not be going to the pack meeting that Friday.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Allison carefully entered the boys’ locker room. Isaac had invited her to a little get together before the weekend and the girl could not deny her excitement at him taking the initiative for once. He had already impressed her with his boldness at the Halloween party. She really liked the idea of him taking steps towards her…even if her father was not necessarily approving.

_Another werewolf?_

Well, in Allison’s opinion, she could do a lot worse. Hell, she had done a lot worse in the past. Her father was most likely still flustered from the entire Darach ordeal and now, with the Oni haunting the city, he seemed to be even more in edge. His experience with the demons had been grave, to say the least, but she would share her newfound intel with the others this evening.

The room was abandoned as expected. Most teams did not practice on Fridays since Fridays were reserved for games and meets. The scent of sweat, deodorant and wet clothes was still hanging heavily in the air, though. It was a locker room after all and not a suite. At least, they would have some time to themselves.

With her dad on the fence of their budding…Allison sighed. She did not want to refer to her and Isaac as a couple. They were definitely more than friends; however she did not know if they were aiming for an actual relationship. For now, it was about having fun and she was comfortable with that. The ups and downs of her romance with Scott were at times still casting shadows over her thoughts.

A sound caught her attention. Something akin to wind blowing through a window, yet looking around the fanlights of the room, Allison did not see an opening. She quickly grabbed the inside of her jacket to retrieve the Chinese throwing daggers which her father insisted on her carrying at all times now. Whatever this was, the girl had come prepared.

As she stood in between the rows of benches and lockers, armed with her bladed weapons of choice, Allison tried to focus on anything odd about her surroundings. The air was almost standing, only wafting lazily through the space. The sound of water dropping echoed from the shower stalls adjacent to the locker room.

A gush of air behind her back had her twirling around to find…nothing. Perhaps she was seeing things again. Kate, or rather the image of Kate had been distressing enough over the past couple of weeks. At least, after Kira had been so nice to give her a special kind of tea, the nightmares had subsided and even during the day, the vivid dreams had come to a halt. Almost at least. There were still times, when Allison doubted herself.

Another gush of air made her stab one of her daggers backwards into nothingness. Surveying the space in her field of vision carefully, the huntress did not see anything out of place, yet when she noticed a dark shape from the corner of her eyes, she braced herself for the attack.

The demon warrior swung his katana at her and she reacted quickly by moving out of the way, rolling onto the floor and swiping with her lower legs at the being’s feet. The black-clad figure fell against the bench in the middle of the corridor, dropping its sword in the process. At once, Allison pocketed her daggers again and went for the discarded weapon. Holding it firmly with both hands the way she had been taught, the girl took on a defensive stance, her focus entirely on the Oni that was slowly recovering from the blow.

The moment it had risen to its full height, its eyes glowed a menacing green.

It was exactly then that Allison felt a cold sensation spreading from behind her left ear into her entire body, leaving her unable to move.

The Oni had tricked her. The first one had approached her to distract her from the second one sneaking up on her.

As the ice crept into her hands, Allison could no longer keep her grip on the hilt of the katana and the blade clashed loudly upon hitting the floor. The girl’s vision blurred and she collapsed right next to the weapon which vanished into a cloud of dark ashes.

This was how Scott and Kira found her only moments after the Oni had left. Kira had sensed their presence when they had gotten her jacket from her locker and it had taken them only a few minutes to locate the dark spirits.

Scott immediately rushed to Allison’s side, carefully cradling her upper body in his arms, calling her name softly in hopes of her regaining consciousness while Kira remained in the doorway, seemingly shocked as she caressed her pearl pendant absent-mindedly.

Seconds after the couple had arrived, Isaac entered the room, muttering about stupid Chemistry. He nearly ran into Kira’s back and stilled when his eyes fell upon Scott and Allison.

“They were here,” Scott informed him briefly before directing his attention back to his first love. Hence, the teenager did not notice the dark look flickering across Isaac’s features as he watched Scott holding Allison’s unconscious body.


	15. Nov 13th, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 15 is up! Woot! Happy me^^
> 
> And I have one more subscriber to the story (thank you <3), a guest left kudos (also thank you <3) and I have been toying around with the idea of simply posting the story plot. Like - I know that this story is getting long, WAY longer than I ever thought it would be - and I think that some people might enjoy the idea of knowing how this plot is supposed to develop, while others just want to be surprised.
> 
> I would post the plot as some kind of final chapter titled “SPOILERS DON’T READ IF YOU DON’T WANT TO KNOW”. I don’t know. I just think that since this story is long-ish, I don’t want people to feel as though they wasted a bunch of time reading it. If I posted the plot, they could read those bullet points and then decide if they want to bother reading it or not, you know? I still haven’t made up my mind about that, but it’s definitely worth a thought or two.
> 
> So, anyways enjoy this chapter!

Beacon Hills Public Library was one of the oldest public institutions within the entire community. The building itself was relatively new, in comparison.

Beacon Hills had always been a bit on the sleepy side; hence it did not astonish Stiles that the city council had decided to build a public dance hall in the 60s. Just in time to experience the rise of Disco clubs. The dance hall had not even been opened for two years and afterwards, the city had had a decent sized building with no proper use. It had taken another five years before it had been refurbished as the public library.

The library reflected their community perfectly: neat, quiet, not up to date with modern technology, somewhat forgotten and in dire need of some money.

So perhaps Stiles was exaggerating on the neat and quiet part - murderous supernatural beings kind of destroyed their peace and harmony - but it was relieving to know now that, even with all of the craziness going on, there were still these little sanctuaries scattered all over town and the public library was one of them. 

Evidently, as a public place, the library could not necessarily be considered ‘deserted’, yet it was obviously past its glory days - the internet had taken care of that and while the library had six mostly functioning computer workplaces with internet access, the data transmission speed was…not worthy of the word ‘speed’, it was more of desperate crawl really.

Still, certain groups of people seemed to be pretty fond of the place - all of those knitting, patchwork and scrapbooking books would be checked out for all of eternity - although Stiles’ age group definitely did not fit into that gap. Which was strange since the library at school was often visited and used for study sessions during recess or free periods, but Beacon Hills Public Library? If it were not for the Starbucks on the other side of the street, Stiles doubted that anybody from school would ever venture down this direction willingly. It suited her well. Nobody would distract her from her studies and that was a-okay with her.

She had put her phone on flight mode even before she had entered the building and Mrs. Collins, the librarian, had looked pleased at her sight. They had not seen each other ever since ‘before’ and for some reason, Stiles took comfort in that. At least, here was something that had not changed, that she was able to rely on. It might sound stupid, however her life did not allow for many demands in regard of normality. The girl would take what she could get at this point. Shut up. 

The faint scent of paper, dust and aging linoleum flooring hit her nostrils and she hoped that one day, someone would make a scented candle just like that. Stiles had gone a little overboard with scented candles the last time they had visited Home Depot. All of those seasonal scents - pumpkin spice, winter candy apple, frosted cranberry, only to name a few of them - had pulled her in like a fish on a hook. Her uncle had eyed her warily and drawn a line at the fifth candle which she had put into their cart, having stated that she would only be allowed to burn those in her room and they would not be getting any new ones until those five would be gone.

Pumpkin spice was almost used up at this point and she had found another appreciator of her choice in Adonis. Apparently, the candle scent was strong enough to gild the nail polish stink to a somewhat tolerable level for the dog; hence he could now be in her room without her having to air out the space beforehand. A total win/win. Mik had merely wrinkled his nose. So Santa could scratch scented candles off of his wish list. 

While browsing through the aisles of shelves, grabbing a volume from time to time and putting it into her crappy plastic shopping basket, Stiles thought about the parent-teacher conference that had forced her to go to the public library instead of the one at school. Luckily, their library was no longer considered a crime scene, yet the teen frowned at the idea of using the rooms as a ‘social exchange area’ for parents. Was the cafeteria not an appropriate place for that? Using the library in such a way before even a fortnight had passed was rather thoughtless and disrespectful towards Dean’s family, but she was not the one in charge who would have to answer for this decision. Mr. Montero was about to face a world of pain. 

Stiles felt a little remorse at the idea of her uncle having to suffer through this particular event. Her father had never been much of chatter box, yet, judging by what had slipped past his lips about these conferences, they were not as much fun as the school liked to sell them for. At least, while her dad had had to suffer through lectures about her behavioral issues, Mikhail would probably get an earful about her difficulties adjusting back to normal student life.

Personally, Stiles did find it difficult to readapt, however, she had not acted out about it. Most teachers were eying her warily at times, as though they were expecting a vocal outburst at any moment, but Stiles did not feel like delivering. She did not want to draw any unwanted attention to her, particularly since she strongly suspected some of the teachers to take pity on her…some other students had more or less tactfully blamed her of getting her grades for free. Not to her face - never to her face, they still had some decency, but it was a weird situation for Stiles. She had always worked for her grades and in the past, nobody had ever complained about her getting favors from the teachers due to some personal issues. And now? She was working just as hard as before, even harder given the fact that she had had a lot of catching up to do while at home, and now, people decided to give her crap because of it.

Well, at least she had a dog to cuddle with. And if the dog did not want to cuddle, she could always squish her squishable which would make the dog jealous which would cause him to want to cuddle with her. Her uncle expected her to say ‘no’, if Adonis wanted something that he had been offered yet rejected previously, but seriously? How was she supposed to say ‘no’ to a dog that wanted to cuddle with her? Also, if she did not cuddle with Adonis, then his tolerance for Skittles would only decrease further and God knew, the term ‘tolerance’ was already way too positive to describe Adonis’ feelings regarding the plushy. 

Sighing, not too loudly because ‘hey, library!’, the girl cast a look over the assortment of books inside her basket. Stiles intended to spend the afternoon researching painting techniques and it was all her uncle’s fault!

Naturally, as any proper teenager, she had complained about her lesson plan, especially about the whole Art History fiasco and, yes, she was totally entitled to call it that! Apparently, her complaining had eventually triggered a reaction from her uncle.

“Are you actually trying?” He had not looked at her since he had been busy marinating the chicken, yet the sound of his voice had left no doubt about his skepticism.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Stiles had put down the cutting knife. Experience had taught her that she was not one of those people that could have a conversation while cutting vegetables. Bad combo! Unless, of course, for the band aid producers. The band aid producers should send her a gift card at this point.

“You’ve been complaining about sucking at art for the past - what now? - three weeks? About how you’re not good at art, but are you even trying? Personally, I remember a gorgeous silhouette that Mom even got framed. It’s still hanging in the hallway at her house. How old were you, then? 12?”

“But that was different,” the teen had crossed her arms in front of her chest, discarding the vegetables splayed on the cutting pad entirely. 'How dare this man…?'

“How was that different?” Ooh, Mik had known that he had hit a spot and had been determined to avoid eye contact for as long as possible, hence he had picked up another piece of meat.

“That was a project and I had, like, two weeks to get it done. Miss Everett expects us to ‘create’ something every week. Sometimes, we’ll only have one block. At school. Where you can’t google anything about techniques and you cannot get any inspiration whatsoever.”

“But you know the lesson plan?” The blonde had barely eyed her as he had walked past her to wash his hands.

“Well, yeah. Miss Everett hands out one at the beginning of each quar…,” realization had dawned on her. She had grabbed her knife and pointed it at him, “you’re a horrible human being and while I love you very much, I also don’t like you very much right now.”

“Just prepare for your lessons, alright?” He had taken a pan from the cabinet and put it onto the stove. “And if that doesn’t work, then you can do all the complaining that you want, okay?”

“You might get something really awesome for Christmas,” Stiles had grumbled while cutting through another clove of broccoli, “just saying.”

Mikhail had smiled.

‘Perhaps’, Stiles mused as she felt the plastic carriers digging into her forearm due to the weight of the books, ‘I should not be feeling all that sorry for him. How hard can a parent-teacher conference be? It’s just some small-talk and bad coffee anyway.’

++++++++++++++++++++

Mikhail wanted to get out of this conference thing as soon as possible. He had felt strangely out of place ever since he had set foot into the building. It was probably because of the occasion and because of all the ‘parents’ surrounding him. Of course, after his brother’s departure, he had become Zdzisława’s legal guardian, but actual ‘parent’? No, that role was eternally reserved for Maksym and Claudia. Also, most of the people here were complete strangers to him. He had already had brief contact with Zdzi’s teachers when she had been incapable of leaving the house, but any person that was not a teacher? No idea who they were.

The fact that most of these people had known each other at least on a superficial level for several years due to their children attending the same school was not aiding, either. This sort of circus was entirely new to him. He had never gone to a parent-teacher conference before, not even as a student and thank Them for that! Mrs. Mullins had hated him…and his mother having gotten into an argument with her about the teacher’s ‘false’ description of him had not necessarily improved that relationship.

Looking down at himself as he checked for the amount of disgustingly light brown coffee still left in the little plastic cup he was holding, he suppressed the urge to scowl. No one shall ever know how much time it had taken him to get dressed for this thing. Adonis was his only witness and the dog was usually pretty good at keeping secrets. It was simply embarrassing to admit that this event was irritating him so much. Why? The man did not know.

At least, his niece had gone the extra mile - as always - to make sure that he would find his ways around the building. She had drawn him a rather basic, yet comprehensive map of the school, pointed out important rooms such as the classrooms he would have to go to, the cafeteria where the parents would get greeted by the principal any minute now, the library that ought to serve as a ‘social exchange room’ - whatever that was supposed to mean and, of course, she had highlighted the bathrooms on each floor.

In addition to the map, Zdzi had provided him with a list of names regarding teachers and school staff. For each of the teachers he would have to meet today, the girl had compiled a short enumeration of subjects, characteristics, topics that could be mentioned and topics that were to be avoided at all costs. 

Mik was rather curious to meet Mr. Finstock, whom he should only call ‘Coach Finstock’, the Economics teacher. Zdzi described him as  
•good teacher  
•fair  
•eccentric  
•loud.

Coach Finstock would apparently attempt to bribe him into convincing her to join a team since her grades were decent, so that the teacher could not bribe her with better grades himself.

Good topics for small talk included  
•anything sport  
•Independence Day - the movie, not the actual day

Bad topics included  
•testicles - he’s only got one left, DO NOT ASK  
•Greenberg - do not even think about asking  
•the government turning a blind eye when people get robbed by corrupt institutions such as pretty much everything.

Mik had a feeling that this would be his most interesting talk of the day.

Also, Zdzi had laid down some rules for him and Mik had snorted the moment he had read them. Apparently, he was not allowed to hook up with anybody from school. Period. And he should watch out for ‘cougars’. Now, that one had had him chuckling, but seeing that he had already been approached by an overly - disturbingly overly - friendly woman having forced the bad coffee into his hand while attempting to pry as much personal information out of him as possible, Mik might have to rely on some of the ‘tactics’ his niece had written down for him.

Looking around the cafeteria, the man noticed that some parents seemed to share his discomfort, yet they chose to suffer in silence as other parents had gathered in small groups to chat. Of course, all of them cared for their kids, it was why they were here, however some of them regarded this as a necessary evil, much like an appointment at the dentist’s or bath time for an unwilling 80 lbs plus Doberman.

Mikhail had decided against bringing the dog along. Even though he was a firm believer in not letting a dog alone for too long, this conference would only take a couple of hours and it was good practice for Adonis. While the Doberman was generally not very clingy - unless there was the prospect of food and/or petting - he had hardly been by himself ever since their relocation to Beacon Hills. He had either been with Mik or with Zdzi, relishing in the attention the girl was bestowing upon him. ‘All hail the belly rubber allowing the dog to sleep in her bed’.

Although, with them currently ‘breaking in’ the dog’s new bed, there was a slight chance that the Doberman would at one point in time at least consider sleeping in his own bed. Maybe. Oh, who was he kidding, Adonis would never leave Zdzi’s bed willingly unless they made him and even then, he would give them ‘the look’. An upside to the kids sharing a bed was the amount of pictures Zdzi had taken with her phone over the past month. Those had certainly spiked the frequency of posts on Adonis’ Instagram, much to his followers' liking.

His blog posts involving his niece’s behavior - always endued with the warning ‘Dear niece, I love you but please do not read on from here’ - seemed also fairly popular with his readers. He had been blogging for some years now, mainly to raise awareness for his shop in the beginning, however the blog had slowly but steadily turned into something more personal. Yes, he would still post about his work, yet he would also post about his daily life and experiences. It was all Jelena’s fault anyway, seeing that she was the one who had introduced him to blogging when the magazine she worked for had expanded its social media a couple of years ago.

So, the posts about him moving to and living in Beacon Hill had gathered some attention…and pretty much all of it was positive, especially whenever he included either the kid or the dog - or even both. He figured it was because of many of his readers - there were not that many, perhaps a couple of hundred but nowhere near a thousand - actually having daughters, sisters or younger female relatives in general. His ranting about the scented candles Zdzi had insisted on getting a couple of days ago at Home Depot had been received as highly entertaining. Of course, they had gone to only get some stuff for their home and a new dog bed since his niece was a genius and she had finally figured out what Adonis’ problem was, but the various Christmas displays had drawn the girl in. So, they had ended up getting very basic - ‘no, we’re not getting LED polar bear lights for the front yard’ - Christmas decorations: some lights, some ornaments, a nice wreath for the front door, nothing too fancy yet great staples and then, Zdzi had discovered those damn candles.

Mikhail was a man and he would not cave in. Not this time at least. The teen could wrap him around her fingers at times because, yes, he wanted her to be happy, still there were lines. Scented candles would not help improving his niece’s mental constitution and they reeked even worse than her nail polish. Five scented candles had been the maximum and even though he still considered that number extremely generous, Zdzisława’s shoulders had slumped ever so slightly.

All it had taken to cheer her up again had been some cash register candy. This was actually a weakness they shared: cash register candy just had a certain charm surrounding it, luring one in, that neither one of them could resist. It was such a simple joy to load all of your shopping into the car and then, as you got in and were about to drive home, to tear into a candy bar. The options at their Home Depot had been meager, so he had opted for Snickers while Zdzi had gone for a dark chocolate Dove bar. 

The chatter around the cafeteria simmered down, when a tall dark-haired man stepped onto the makeshift podium that had been built along one of the long sides of the room. Mik recognized him: it was Luis Montero, the new principal. They had spoken briefly on the phone before and the October newsletter had announced Montero having accepted the position of principal at Beacon Hills High School. Hopefully, he would be able to perform his job longer than his most recent predecessors.

The microphone made static noises as it was turned on and Montero tapped his finger experimentally against the mesh metal covering the upper part of the device.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” he greeted the crowed with a slight smile, “how nice of you all to come visit us at Beacon Hills High School.”

The principal went on to introduce himself properly, informed the crowd about today’s program and mentioned a few projects and topics which were currently occupying the student body - for juniors, this meant PSATs.

Mik had to admit that Montero was a talented speaker: he understood the art of highlighting the right words to bring his points across, he never dwelled too long on a single subject and his choice of vocabulary was neither too elitist, nor too basic, giving people the impression that this was an intelligent man knowing his stuff and that their children would be well taken care of under his lead…or something along those lines. All of the people present knew that the parent-teacher conference had been advanced due to the city facing certain ‘problems’ right now. 

And as though Montero had read his thoughts, the man’s features suddenly took on a rather remorseful expression and he addressed the elephant in the room. “When I applied for this position, I was aware of the school’s recent ‘developments’”, he cleared his throat and paused a moment before continuing, “there are no words that could offer any solace to those who have lost a loved one.”

Observing the speaker carefully, Mikhail was able to see that these were no empty words. The man was talking from personal experience - his voice might be steady, still, a slight shift in his shoulders gave him away.

“But there is always hope. Over the past year, a lot of change has happened at this school. Some for the better, unfortunately some for the worse. One of the main issues that I will address immediately is security. As of now, the school is coming to an end with inviting offers to recommission the camera surveillance systems. The appraisal of the offers is scheduled for the end of this month and, if everything goes according to plan, the new service provider will install their system over the winter break.”

Some of the parents began to rumor, a few sounded concerned, yet the majority appeared to be relieved at the idea of their offspring receiving additional protection by a simple security system. Mikhail was not too thrilled about cameras all over the place: the kids would have to walk a tightrope to impede their discovery. A sudden appearance of claws and fangs caught on camera would be difficult to explain. 

“So,” Montero looked around the room, a serious tone underlining his voice, “since all of us have gathered here today, I invited Agent Rafael McCall, the lead agent in the ongoing investigation, to talk to us about the issue of keeping our children safe.” He stepped back from the microphone and not a heartbeat later, Agent McCall appeared in his place, thanking the principal curtly yet politely. 

‘McCall’, Mikhail tried to keep his scowl under control. Hopefully, he would not end up running into the federal agent. Chances were rather low given that Mik was not particularly fond of the brunette’s presence. Nonetheless, this was McCall and there was an enormous risk that the agent would come up running to him. Ever since their interrogation, things had been relatively quiet, probably because of his lawyer filing against McCall for abuse of authority, but in a social setting such as this? He would have to keep it together, especially if McCall insisted on playing the self-proclaimed hero that he was not.

Okay, so maybe Mik was a little opinionated, but who could blame him? His past experiences with McCall had not been too pleasant for either of them. There was a slight possibility that McCall would actually avoid him due to those experiences, yet he did not consider the man smart enough for that, to be honest. 

The federal agent addressed the crowd with a confident smile plastered on his face. Of course, he had to be aware of the most recent news articles claiming that the current investigation had come to a halt and that the FBI was nowhere near solving the cases having been caused by the Darach, let alone solving the cases of the missing people.

Nathan - despite Mik’s insistence that they should limit their contact to an ultimate minimum - had informed him about the victims that had been found. Apparently, there were no wounds on the bodies, not even the slightest marks. Many of the remains had looked as though the person had simply frozen in a state of shock. It was confusing, to say the least. From what Nathan had gathered with his personal experiences in the occult, the people had been robbed of their life force and whoever did it, the victims must have gone with them willingly since they did not show any indication of violent handling.

Reluctantly, after having learnt about the victims, Mikhail had agreed on secret meetings to discuss the occurrences. Even if Zdzisława was his first priority, this mystery might end up biting all of them in the butt, if he did not help Nathan. The least he could offer was knowledge. He had never been the investigator of their family that title had always been reserved for his brother. Yes, he was able to add up numbers, but given a sum, Mik had at times trouble figuring out the numbers adding up to that sum.

Whoever had brought more death to this town, they might have also brought the Oni. The Japanese demons could either be hunting the person stealing people’s lives. That would be the best case scenario and the most favorable outcome for all of them. The Oni would eventually catch the murderer - they were resilient beings after all - and retreat to their realms without any trouble.

The worst case scenario? The Oni were controlled by the murderer and actually sought out potential victims. If that were the case, it would not matter how much McCall was preaching ‘communication’ and ‘potential curfews’ right now…they would find their target and perform their task to cold perfection.

Whatever they were after, they would stop at nothing to get it.

And if it was life force that they were after…Mik downed the rest of his disgusting coffee with one swift gulp, swallowing the thin brew despite its horrid taste.

Death would be busier than usual. 

+++++++++++++++++++++

Stiles pinched the bridge of her nose before rubbing her index finger over her Yin Tang point. Her vision had become somewhat bleary from the cheap artificial lights and as tiny spots of light had begun dancing across the letters and lines of her lecture, the girl had been mildly alerted. She did not need those lights again. They meant nothing but trouble.

In the evening of the gruesome PSAT, Stiles had informed her uncle about the math section and had admitted that she might have screwed that up entirely. He had listened to her intently, as he always did whenever she talked about a serious problem - in particular those problems which were related to those dreaded lights! What bothered her the most was not knowing, if those lights were a sign of PTSD or part of this whole messenger deal. She had attempted to read her uncle’s as well as Dr. Meyer’s features whenever she had talked about the strange occurrences, but thus far…she sighed and even though her eyes were closed, there were still those impish lights flashing along the inside of her eyelids, causing her eyes to sting uncomfortably.

The men had not shown any indication that this was a worrisome development. At the same time, neither of them had offered any type of solution for what was happening to her. They had been relatively indifferent about the whole thing. Stiles had already toyed with the idea of simply asking, yet she was aware of the boundaries her uncle had to stick to. She had refrained from questioning Dr. Meyers at this point seeing that her uncle was her guardian. 

‘Ew, that word again!’ Stiles had come to despise it strongly ever since Miss Blake had caused havoc all over town. Still, her uncle was in charge of her, hence she had inquired several times about her new ‘status’ - which was her preferred way of referring to becoming a messenger - however every time the girl had posed her questions, the blond had gotten a rather strained look on his face. His answers had been superficial and ambiguous, evasive to say the least, as he had stated that, while he was allowed to enlighten her about some basics, the more in depth questions would have to wait until she was older.

Of course, ever the curious spirit she was, Stiles had wanted to know when she would be considered ‘older’. Mik had settled on glaring at her from the driver’s seat, having muttered something along the lines of ‘petulant brat’.

The moment the teenager opened her eyes again, she was greeted by a glaring white, blinding her momentarily. Closing her eyes again to shield them from the brightness, Stiles counted to ten before daring another glance around the room. She had to blink several times, however with each blink, the light receded slowly until only a few dots spotting her vision remained.

Everything looked…normal. That had to mean that something was wrong. Those lights always meant that something was wrong. Perhaps, this was another day dream and she just imagined sitting at this table while in reality, she was actually running onto the street where a car would run her over any minute now.

Stiles pressed her index finger against her Yin Tang point, again, and tried to ready herself emotionally. The tip of her finger nail was digging into her skin in such a way that there would be a crescent shaped mark when she removed it. Her nails had become stronger and longer ever since the girl had begun using nail care products like strengthening base coats by Sally Hansen. Her grandmother had already informed her that she would be getting a proper manicure once they came to Florida for Thanksgiving.

As Stiles eventually lifted her eyelids to look at the hand in front of her face, she counted her fingers. Five fingers. She counted the other hand as well. Five fingers. Ten fingers total. The teen counted both forwards and backwards, the number did not change. She then picked up her phone in order to check her reflection. The black display mirrored her face flawlessly, revealing some slightly smudged eye shadow.

Scanning the area in her near vicinity, Stiles did not happen upon any tree stumps, either. Maybe, just maybe, those lights really were stress induced and not some type of evil foreboding. May…

A flash of white, like a camera, caught her eye and as she turned to the direction of the flash, Stiles held her breath for a moment: there, in one of the chairs at another table across from hers, sat the girl. The girl from the bathroom mirror. The copper blonde had tied her long hair back into a neat high ponytail which brushed against the nape of her neck every time she moved her head while skimming through two books at once. Several other books lay around her, yet Stiles was not able to see what titles the girl had picked out.

Stiles heartbeat sped up as she tried to make up her mind about the situation. This was not real. She was aware enough to realize that this was not real. So the lights had been playing tricks on her again. But what was she supposed to do now? Approach the girl who had bled out the last time they had seen each other? Had they actually seen each other? Would the girl even know who she was?

Even though her brain tended to be faster than her body could follow, her legs had developed a mind of their own and before she was able to process and assess the situation properly, Stiles was already rising from her seat…as well as the girl. As Stiles moved closer to her, Ghost Girl would only retreat further into the depths of the library. For every step Stiles took, the copper blonde would also take a step, always keeping a steady distance between.

The thought to simply run crossed Stiles mind, however she had no idea whether or not this was real and therefore moving slowly seemed to be a better choice than starting a mad ghost hunt. It also allowed her to take a closer look at the copper blonde. 

She was petite, barely taller than Lydia, despite increasing her height by wearing nude Mary Janes. The heels were about two inches, nothing too crazy as far as shoes went these days - some of the things Stiles had discovered on some fashion blogs had to be straight out of fetish magazines, she swore! The girl donned a light blue tea length sun dress and a white lace shrug. Her skin gleamed in the sunlight casting through the windows and Stiles could not shake of the image of a light summer tan. She was gorgeous, to say the least. This was somebody who actually took their time dressing, yet managed to pull off a seemingly effortless look.

Stiles observed how the girl - she would have to come up with a proper name for the phantom at one point in time soon - traced one perfectly manicured fingernail along the spines of books on an upper shelf without ever touching the books themselves. When she came to a halt, so did Stiles. The ghost teen delicately reached up to actually touch one of the many volumes before gently taking a hold of it with her left hand. The moment she had pulled the book halfway towards her, she turned around, staring straight at Stiles with her piercing, almost haunting, blue eyes.

Then, she vanished into nothingness while the book dropped to the floor with a dull thud.

Stiles cautiously approached the discarded book, wary of her surroundings and halfway expecting the book to grow teeth and to attack her like ‘The Monster Book of Monsters’. However the book simply lay there, unmoving, forgotten, as though it was just waiting to be picked up and to be returned to its friends on the shelf. Its slightly yellowing paper stood out against the grey flooring.

Kneeling down, her right hand shakily steadying her on one of the lower shelves, Stiles was surprised to see a volume she was quite familiar with. It was a book about Greek mythology. The first time Stiles had come across it had been right after Scott’s first full moon. She had researched werewolves and found their creation myth in the stories surrounding Lycaon of Arcadia - who was not be mistaken for Lycaon of Troy. The girl had taken that wrong turn and while the ancient myths of Troy had been rather epic, they had merely furthered her amazing ability to procrastinate.

The old hardcover felt just like she remembered beneath her fingertips: slightly roughed up around the edges, yet softened from years of handling and simple aging. The blue color had almost entirely faded around the back of the book which showed broken lines. Even the gold letters forming the title of the volume were slightly scratched up. 582 pages weighed heavily in her hand as Stiles turned the book every other way, looking for some sort of clue or at least anything unusual.

Checking out the area where the book had fallen to the ground, Stiles found herself in the European History section of the library. They had never bothered to install a section focusing entirely on mythology, hence most folklore and legends had ended up being mixed into the history section. Of course, that had made it a lot harder for Stiles to locate all of the books she had needed for her research over the better part of this year, however it had taught her the proper directions and at this point, she was rather firm in finding the volumes she needed without much ado.

‘What’s so special about you, hm?’ The brunette mused as she opened the book greeting her with its unique scent of aged paper and she was surprised to see an actual library card tucked into the inside pocket right behind the front cover. Even though Beacon Hills Public Library was not up to par with most modern technology, they had introduced a barcode scanning system about five years ago. Stiles had thought that introducing the scanners would ultimately replace the library cards entirely. Perhaps this was just a remnant? A card that had not yet been removed? Turning the book over once more in order to check for a barcode, the card slipped out of the pocket and fell to the floor soundlessly. 

‘Crap! Sorry, please don’t fall apart!’ Stiles quickly reached for the card and as she carefully touched the brittle paper, discolored due to age and use, her eyes fell upon the names of former lenders handwritten in either black or blue ink. The flourished cursive letters were still legibly as well as the date stamps right next to them. The smile that had formed on her lips due to the obvious nostalgia fell flat when Stiles’ eyes widened in shock, fixated on the bottom of the card.

The last person to borrow this book, before the introduction of the scanning system at least, had been ‘P. Hale’ in July 2006…

Stiles mind was spinning.

‘P. Hale’, July 2006…not even three months before a fire had destroyed most of his pack and rendered him an invalid for almost six years.

Stiles forgot all about her studying at that moment as she quickly tucked the card back into its pocket. Why would the girl lead her to a book that Peter Hale had borrowed?

‘One is an incident, two a coincidence and three is a pattern.’

Screw painting techniques and her sheet listing all the strange behavior her friends had shown as of late - she had to acquire more evidence.


	16. Nov 16th, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter is done and we’re getting closer to the next big 0, meaning chapter 20. I’m so happy and SO grateful for you guys and girls <3
> 
> LonelyGodsMuse and HookerStiles bookmarked the series, OnceUponASunsetDream, Bluehexx and guests/anons left kudos and I’ve got 5 new subscribers - this is amazing and it makes me smile and with each chapter that’s finished, I get more excited for finally being able to show you how this story is going to end.
> 
> @Bluehexx: your comment was so nice and knowing that my OC is appreciated by you is great.
> 
> So, here we go, chapter 16!

It was Friday afternoon, classes had ended about 30 minutes ago and a blanket of silence had place itself over the entire school building. The fact that it was the Friday before Thanksgiving break might have motivated the majority of the student body to practically flee from school grounds even faster than usual. Occasionally, the sound of footsteps or of a locker being either opened or closed rippled through the hallways. It was calm though, calmer than on an ordinary Friday. One was almost tempted to call the atmosphere peaceful.

According to the bits and pieces of conversations Stiles had been able to pick up over the course of the day, people had planes to catch, train rides to be on and to support their parents preparing their homes for visiting relatives.

Also, there was this huge commotion having been caused by Douchebag McCall at the parent-teacher conference prior this week. Principal Montero had considered it a good idea to have the lead agent in the ongoing murder investigation talk to the parents; especially since many of the victims were below the age of 20. To give Montero some credit, his intentions had been well meant. McCall was a sperm donor himself - calling him an actual parent would be a lie - with a 16-year-old son attending high school and he had used the podium to, well…To basically drill people into forcing their children to keep in touch constantly. Which meant that, as of Wednesday morning, every recess, no matter how short, and every study hall was filled with the sound of phones ringing, beeping, vibrating or whatnot due to distressed parents stressing over the safety of their children. Total parental control was not only a questionable safety measure, it was also pretty annoying. Stiles would have never thought that anybody at school would ever envy her, yet her uncle not freaking out about her safety and turning into a Black Hawk parent definitely had its perks.

So Thanksgiving break would mean quality family time for most students including Stiles, who would have to leave Beacon Hills sometime tomorrow for the obligatory Thanksgiving trip to Florida. Only that this time around, she would not have to step foot onto any plane to get there. As she had learnt a couple of weeks ago, they now had some kind of magical Narnia closet in their basement that would get them to their destination - Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport - in no time.

When the girl had demanded a demonstration to satisfy her burning curiosity, her uncle had explained to her that she would have to wait until their upcoming trip since this way of transportation was not meant to be used for ‘demonstration purposes’. What a buzz kill! Naturally, just because Stiles was not permitted to use something, it did not mean that she would not ask about its functions and technical details…and to inquire about airport candy. Airport candy - the candy they offered in the duty free zone anyway - was amazing and no human being should be denied the pleasure of airport candy. It made up for the most horrible flights, hands down.

Her questions had eventually caused her uncle to threaten her with being on dog grooming duty for the rest of the year, if she did not stop annoying him immediately about their personal entrance to Narnia. And, no, even if ‘certain people’ have kept telling her that it was not Narnia, Stiles would call it that until she had been proven otherwise. There better be at least one faun in order to make up for the lack of airport candy.

For a moment, the girl had actually considered to go with grooming duty until it had occurred to her that it included bath time as well. Since the weather was all wet and muddy and not to forget cold, the intervals between Adonis’ bath times had shortened drastically. Caked mud seemed to stick to the Doberman’s legs and belly permanently these days and keeping him clean had become a never-ending challenge.

While Adonis enjoyed getting his short fur coat brushed out and did not display any trouble with nail clipping or ear cleaning, baths freaked him out to the point where he would simply freeze and wait for it to be over. Unfortunately, the dog tended to freeze outside the bathroom meaning that they - aka her uncle because Stiles was just a skinny, fragile thing, how was she supposed to lift 87 pounds of unwilling dog? And yes, Adonis might have gained a pound, so what? Winter was coming, besides he was not even overweight but muscular. Her reasoning as to why she was incapable of carrying the dog tended to get her a dirty look from her uncle, yet Stiles had no problems playing that card, if it suited her needs.

A scratching sound caught Stiles’ attention and as she looked up, she saw Gwen Ashbourne scribbling with a pen on some paper in front of her. The senior shook her head no and quickly scratched out whatever was causing her irritation.

Stiles considered herself lucky that she only had to share the library with one person this afternoon and said person being Gwen Ashbourne was another bonus. The older teenager was sitting at another table far across from the one Stiles had chosen and was entirely immersed into the various papers, folders and notepads scattered around her. Gwen was probably planning yet another event. She was known as ‘the’ person in charge when it came to social events such as Homecoming week, pep rallies, formals and she also participated in a decent number of clubs. From what Stiles had gathered, the yearbook of 2013 would carry Gwen’s handwriting and nobody would argue with that. Already in her freshman year, Gwen had volunteered for most committees and judging by the outcome of her work, the senior was highly dedicated to her tasks. If anybody was able to pull off a motivating school event to further school spirit - which was at an all time low due to this nasty series of murderers - it would be Gwen Ashbourne.

The brunette was also pleased to find the only other occupant of the room engrossed in her own work to the point where Gwen would most likely not notice what Stiles was currently doing. Looking to her left, there was a stack of books and folders - assignments for the upcoming week - and while she despised the thought of having to carry her workload all the way to Florida, she much preferred solving the riddle splayed out in front of her.

That afternoon at the public library, she had been able to locate eleven books that had been borrowed by P. Hale in the summer of 2006. Eleven was definitely more than a coincidence, there was a pattern here and she was set on figuring out the picture it belonged to. Her uncle had been adamant that he would not allow her to bring any of her evidence to Florida. Hell, he had even gone so far as to lock the books up in his office to limit her ‘obsessing’ about them.

‘Amateur!’ Stiles had rolled her eyes at him - behind his back, of course. Even with the books locked up, the teen still had the photo copies of all the library cards and indices of contents safely stored away. She was not stupid, after all and while one part of her brain told her that her hiding the copies was completely justified, the other part of her brain, well…Stiles knew that her keeping secrets from her dad had come at the cost of him losing trust in her. Her own father had shown more trust in other people than in his own daughter and, yes, it had definitely influenced their relationship. Also, even though knowing that her father barely trusted her at times, Stiles had never actively attempted to change her predicament. She might not have been happy - what normal person would be? - yet the prospect of trying and failing had weighed heavily on her shoulders. Hence, she had simply accepted the cards fate had dealt her and, for the lack of a better phrase, sucked it up.

And here she was, presented with somebody actually willing to trust her, yet Stiles had decided to blow that up again. She could not be trusted with trust, okay? Not when there were phantom people, lights, books and Peter Hale. Not to mention the fiasco that was taking place inside her social circle. Nowadays, it was more of a square than a circle, with everybody standing isolated in their own corner. Except for Allison and Isaac maybe and, eww, Stiles was still not comfortable with that pairing, no matter what sparked it.

Glancing over to her right, she spotted the corner of her ‘social mystery map’ beneath one of the photo copies. So far, Stiles refused to start with another wall of evidence, but that did not stop her fingers from itching every single time she thought about it. Uncle would have her head, if she did. Or perhaps not her head, but instead something equally concerning.

Stiles had written Lydia’s name in the upper right corner of her square, Allison and Isaac filled the upper left corner, Scott occupied the lower left corner and Stiles completed their group in the lower right corner. Before, all of them had been connected via circles orbiting each other in one way or another. Stiles’ circle had revolved around Scott. Lydia had been part of Allison’s circle whose circle had also revolved around Scott. After Derek had kicked him out and Isaac had decided to turn his puppy eyes on Scott - seriously, that dude was way too comfortable being the victim - he had had also joined their little solar system with Scott at its center. Now, everybody was at the center of their own little world.

Lydia had completely reverted to her old ways. She had even begun to act all ditzy again meaning a huge setback in comparison to what she had embodied mere weeks ago. The strawberry blonde had finally taken pride in her intelligence and independence, putting anybody daring to defy her into place. The social hierarchy had adjusted accordingly. Lydia Martin could be anything she wanted to be and if she desired to be a highly intelligent Queen Bee, then people ought to get with the program. Fast.

Stiles had refrained from putting herself in the line of fire again. The brunette had not necessarily avoided her friend, however some distance allowed for more than just a couple of stray observations. At times, getting to the core of a problem meant isolating oneself from the picture.

While Stiles was able to relate to Lydia having lashed out at her previously, the other girl had displayed behavior that was certainly more worrisome. Of course, a lot of shit had happened to them over the past year, so Stiles would not blame any of them, if they were fed up with the situation causing them to act out in anger or irritation. People had emotions and emotions were normal. Emotions were human and if there was one thing that all of them needed to cling to in the midst of monsters, then it should be their humanity.

Lydia however? There was something very strange going on. Lydia was able to put on a show, Stiles was aware of that, yet as she had gotten to know the banshee better, Stiles had learnt to discern between Lydia acting and being herself. And this entire being aloof and separating herself from her friends? This was not an act. This was real and it was plain wrong. Occasionally, Stiles had caught her friend staring off into space, zoning out with a thoughtful look on her face until she suddenly snapped out of it. Lydia Martin did not zone out. The only time when she had zoned out, had been during her weird sort of possession by Peter Hale. Although, whatever was taking place right now, was different from that time. For once, Lydia was neither confused nor scared. The episodes caused by Peter had always left the strawberry blonde puzzled; nonetheless she was not displaying anything remotely. She was as confident as ever, strutting down the halls in her heels, looking fabulous, exuding power.

Something was wrong, though, Stiles just knew.

Allison was not fairing much better. Perhaps her withdrawal from social groups was correlated to Lydia’s behavior. After having moved to Beacon Hills, Lydia had almost immediately befriended her, introduced her to everybody and made sure to include the brunette into everything. From what Stiles had learnt about Allison, the girl was not particularly shy, yet her family’s near constant relocating in the past had discouraged her from reaching out to people.

The girls had spoken briefly a few times since Stiles’ return to school. A couple of words in the bathroom or in the hallway, nothing that would count as a decent conversation, though. There might have been conversations, if it had not been for either Isaac or Kira interrupting them. Every. Single. Damn. Time. Stiles was not too opposed to calling it a conspiracy because, seriously, every single damn time Allison and she had managed to talk, one of those two had wanted something from Allison. And Allison, ever the perfect Disney princess that she was, had of course not turned them down and excused herself politely with a smile. No wonder that Scott had fallen for her. That smile, combined with those dimples was able to conquer entire countries, for sure!

So, Allison withdrew herself from high school society and since Isaac was literally wrapping himself around her, he would go and do whatever the brunette did. And, no, Stiles did not want to think about that too hard, eff you very much.

That left Scott. Stiles was aware of her own issues, she did not need to analyze her social inabilities even further seeing that she now had Dr. Meyers doing that for her. Yes, he was still visiting on a regular base, about twice per week, and there was the prospect of him reducing their sessions to only one per week. Stiles was making progress and it felt really good to know that, even though she had her demons to tackle, she was apparently gaining the upper hand to the point where people took notice.

Unfortunately, Scott’s demons were still haunting him. His shift was causing him trouble. The easiest conclusion was his change from beta to alpha. Even Derek had needed time to manage the alpha shift and the man was a born werewolf knowing at least some theories about the difference of the change. Scott on the other hand was not so lucky.

At first, according to the things Lydia had told her, Scott had not been able to control the shift in the sense of not being able to shift at all. But now, according to Stiles’ observations, Scott had no control over the shift at all in the sense of it happening at random times. The teen was obviously struggling, yet so far, he had still managed to fake it successfully. Evidently, Stiles had known him for the better part of her entire life, hence she was able to detect the tell-tale signs of Scott losing his cool. Every now and then, there was a brief flash of red, a hint of a fang and the slightest tip of a claw. If anybody saw it, they would blink and it would be gone, leaving them thinking they must have been imagining things. They were not, though.

Scott’s control was slipping. With his newfound alpha powers and the loss of Allison as his girlfriend, Scott was struggling to find a new anchor and despite Kira plastering herself to his side - it was ridiculous! - the turmoil was real and held the potential for disaster.

Add in Scott’s father aggressively forcing his way back into his son’s life despite having been close to absent for the past six years, the cocktail became even more dangerous. Yes, the very real prospect of a new relationship with Kira was able to take the edge off, but that was merely a delay, a distraction so to speak. It divided Scott’s attention and while it was positive for him not to mull over his control issues, it was also negative for him not to focus on regaining control. The sword of Damocles dangling above their heads, ladies and gentlemen.

Kira was another mystery altogether. The girl appeared to be friendly enough. A little too friendly in Stiles’ opinion, yet even Allison seemed to like her and Allison was not the person to trust easily. So, perhaps, Stiles was experiencing some slight xenophobia after a bunch of strangers had caused nothing but trouble over the past couple of months. Dr. Meyers liked to remind her that suspicion - not xenophobia - was a normal instinctive reaction, particularly for people of higher intelligence. Although, said intelligence should also allow the person to analyze the situation and to act accordingly after the data had been processed. Needless to say, Stiles was still kind of caught in the processing part.

Why was she not able to just be happy for her friend? There was a new girl - and Scott was more than in need of some romance after Allison and he were now definitely over - who knew about the supernatural, who was still interested in Scott romantically and not, well, wanted to murder him, who was kind of cute, Stiles had to admit, and who was…suspicious as hell. Everything about that girl was too good to be true. Lydia did not like her either meaning that Stiles was not the only one to doubt Kira’s intentions.

For now, though, she was not able to proof anything. There was no concrete evidence that Kira was actually planning an evil endgame. Just like there was no concrete evidence that Peter Hale had used those books for more than some personal research! The Hales had probably owned an entire library, only ever bothering to get the more interesting volumes and not some dusty old books from ‘ye olde public library’. Peter might have been just curious to see what was available to the average - meaning human - population of Beacon Hills.

Grabbing one of her photo copies in frustration, Stiles scowled at the paper.

‘Who would ever feel the need to borrow these books anyway?! Let’s see ‘J. Williams, J. Miller, C. Hernandez, T. Bailey, L. Florez, E. Martin and P. Hale’.’

Stiles angrily picked up another photo copy, scanning over the list of names again, starting at a random point somewhere towards the middle of the card and going downwards from there.

‘W. Hughes, P. Dixon, T. Vargas, A. Welch, E. Martin and P. Hale.’ She was about to put the sheet aside, when her eyes were drawn back to one name in particular. E. Martin.

‘Two is a coincidence,’ the girl thought before running her fingers carefully over the papers spread out in front of her. Her eyes widened in surprise. E. Martin had borrowed a total of seven books out of Peter’s eleven in June 2006. This was interesting. This was a pattern.

Feeling stupid for having been so focused on Peter that she had disregarded all the other names, Stiles began to wreck her mind for E. Martin. Who was E. Martin?

‘E. Martin. E. Martin’…Stiles was tempted to say it out loud just to feel the letters rolling over her tongue. Why did this sound so familiar? Martin was a fairly common family name but that could not be it. Also, was there a correlation between E. Martin and Peter? Did they know each other? Certainly, there must have been more people in the past to know about the Hales than just the Argents and Deaton’s family.

‘Now, how am I supposed to find out, who E. Martin is? Or was?’ Stiles was already considering her options. The easiest way would be going through the white pages. Then, there was the registration office, social media and the internet in general. Herr Google Fu skills would finally come to good use again. She would have to be fast, though. If her uncle’s opinion on her research was any indication, he would most likely put a damper on her solving this mystery.

Stiles sighed, feeling the inklings of a headache starting to form at her temples. They would leave tomorrow around noon, leaving her with roughly 20 hours to figure this out. 19 hours if she subtracted dinner. 17 hours if she subtracted grocery shopping. 16 hours if she subtracted their evening walk. Experience had taught the girl that packing could be done within 20 minutes and sleep was overrated. She could sleep during the break, while being on a gorgeous dog-friendly beach. Adonis loved sunbathing and would probably soak up all the sunshine he was able to receive before their return to freezing North California.

The slight pressure along her temples increased, causing the brunette to rub the tips of her fingers against the stinging areas. Closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, she attempted to focus on E. Martin. E. Martin might be the key to all of this: to Ghost Girl, to Peter, to the lights, the Nemeton, everything. All of the sudden, a noise like a thud rang through the silence of the room, resulting in Stiles opening her eyes in shock. As she did so, lights burst in front of her vision, blinding her momentarily.

While waiting several heartbeats, breathing heavily due to the unwelcomed surprise - those lights were never good for anything - the lights slowly diminished from her sight and the girl was not able to spy anything out of place. Still, there had been the sound of something falling to the ground. Stiles swore that she had not imagined it. And it had come from one of the shelves surrounding her.

Stiles looked over to Gwen, finding the senior still focused on her work and the headphones she was currently wearing were definitely not furthering her awareness of her surroundings. Perking up her ears for another noise, Stiles scanned the room wearily. People were still going missing. One of them had been found and most likely murdered in this very room. It was not uncommon for a murderer to return to a former scene.

Gwen was oblivious to the happenings in the library, that much was obvious; hence their lives might lie upon Stiles’ shoulders.

‘Great.’ The teen rolled her eyes. ‘Just great.’

Rising carefully from her chair, Stiles’ senses were on edge. Of course, she was no match for a werewolf, nonetheless the human body was capable of immense perception in the face of potential danger. The sound had originated from the shelves taking up about three quarters of the area, the chairs and tables made up the rest of the interior, along with four computers along one of the walls.

The shelves were arranged in parallel to the long sides of the room, allowing for an unobscured view in between the rows of wooden boards loaded heavily with books. Not a first pick for a hiding spot.

The first three rows of shelves revealed nothing to Stiles when she walked past them. Nothing was lying on the floor; nothing seemed odd besides herself cautiously stepping from row to row. The girl told herself that she was not acting crazy, yet her actions somehow tried to convince her otherwise.

‘Perhaps I only imagined the sound’, she thought the moment she had crossed the entire length of the room, leaving only one row of shelves for her to check, ‘I’m just stressing out because of this whole Peter ordeal. Even if he’s just sitting in his evil lair, planning on how to take over the world, he’s still driving people crazy, gotta give him that one. Good thing Gwen is busy, I don’t really know how to…hello.’

Stiles cocked her head to the side: there, on the floor of the last small passage in between the shelves lay a book. And it did not just lay there like somebody bothered to put in there all neat and clean. No, this book lay opened, pages down on the floor as though it had actually fallen from its place on the shelf.

Evidently, Stiles was only able to resist the temptation for so long. Without throwing caution to the wind - hey, there might be a murderer creeping around the place - she guardedly crossed the few yards separating her from the hardback.

As she kneeled down to pick up the volume, Stiles already noticed the rather special cover: it was an artificial bright red with a holographic effect gleaming in the cheap light of the library. This was odd. What sort of book…? Turning the book to its front with a flick of her wrist, the girl read the title. ‘Beacon Hills High School, 2006-2007, Yearbook.’

‘A yearbook?’ Stiles frowned as she began to flick through the pages. It was the same pictures she had seen countless times before but with different people. A club here, a team there, another great committee, a couple of shots from formals and school events. The Cyclones did get a tad bit more attention than the other teams, yet that was to be expected. Lacrosse was where it was at and they would enter the new season with three winning seasons in a row under their belts.

Her father had never been able to muster a lot of enthusiasm for lacrosse, he had just been happy for his daughter being part of a team. Mik did not even pretend to understand lacrosse. The Stilinski men were football men. Occasionally, depending on the season, they would also venture into basketball, ice hockey and baseball territory and if the Olympics were on, they would magically turn into those people that all of the sudden were interested in most of the sports represented at this event. But lacrosse in their hometown? Nah.

Stiles had skipped almost through the entire book, looking for anything that would stand out to her from the pages, yet nothing fulfilled the brief. Until she came across a charcoal black page that had the words ‘In memory of’ written in a pristine cursive white font at its center.

It was not uncommon for yearbooks to have a special segment for lost teachers, staff members or even students. Hell, the yearbook 2012-2013 would feature more than a page or two in order to pay respect to the murder victims. Hopefully, they would not ask her to assist. Even though her father’s passing was linked to the chaos having been caused by the Darach, Stiles did not consider it proper to name every single victim in their yearbook. The students should be mentioned and the teachers deserved to be remembered as well - except for Harris maybe and they really ought to avoid Ms. Blake aka the reason people died - but anybody else? It seemed too much. If they chose to simply list the victims outside of Beacon Hills High, then that was fine with Stiles. There was nothing wrong with mentioning them, yet they should not be highlighted the way people from school were.

Turning over the pages, Stiles saw color pictures of students covering entire pages - one page per student - depicting the person’s name, their age and some personal facts. In between the picture pages, there were copies of newspaper articles strewn across the charcoal black background to form some kind of collage.

She turned another page and froze, because, all of the sudden, there was a girl looking at her. The picture was beautiful: the copper blonde was sitting in a boat; part of the prow was visible behind her. The sun reflected not only on her hair but also on the surface of the water. Perhaps it was a lake, given that in the far back, lines of trees created an amazing background. The girl smiled right at the camera, her blue eyes shining with happiness.

Stiles shakily brushed her fingers over the information printed in the upper left corner: Esther Martin (Age 17).

For a moment, she simply stared at the page, at Esther smiling back at her.

‘Ghost Girl.’ Her heartbeat sped up slightly, her breathing hitched. Ghost girl’s name was Esther Martin. Had been Esther Martin. Seeing the name and the picture with personal notes all over the page caused something inside Stiles’ brain to eventually click, waking her from her state of shock.

“The fortnight murderer,” she whispered, her throat all of the sudden as dry as sand. How had she forgotten about that?

Regarding the photo of Esther Martin carefully, Stiles cocked her head to the side. Perhaps this was not about Peter after all. But she would need facts to support that theory. The girl retrieved her phone from her jeans pocket and sighed. Her uncle would so not like what she was planning on doing; however she began writing him a Snapchat anyway.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Mikhail could not fathom how he had gotten roped into this scheme.

It was Friday evening, the clock in his dashboard showed 07.35pm, and he just drove up to the local police station. By any means, this was not how he had imagined his Friday evening.

He had imagined something along the lines of ordering delicious food at a place that would allow dogs and if they would not be dog-friendly, he might have even settled for takeout, followed by a nice long walk and ringing in the weekend with some Shark Tank before having to pack for their trip to Fort Lauderdale.

And he might have gotten his wish, if it had not been for his niece experiencing a revelation at school. Luckily, school had already been out by the time she had witnessed yet another episode resulting in her finding out 'Ghost Girl’s' real name and the reason of her passing. Mik was still annoyed at the thought of Zdzisława hiding photo copies from him because he should have known. His niece was resourceful like that. Most of the time, he liked that about her. Most of the time.

So, in the aftermath of her ‘newfound evidence’, she had informed him via Snapchat about her having to go to the station to look at some files about a murder case from 2006.

Mikhail had not been too thrilled at that idea and a lengthy conversation had ensued. His arguments had mainly focused on the fact that ‘looking at some government files’ was considered a felony and that he would not allow that to happen. Zdzi’s arguments had been that she was sick of ghost people and creepy lights and that she was not planning on stealing the files, she only wanted to look at them and if that would make the scary stuff go away, then she was set on doing it.

There had been cussing and Russian cussing and eventually, Mik had drawn the lines: it was Friday which meant that they would go grocery shopping, then they would get something to eat and then, they would go to the station and there would be no stealing of confidential files. Zdzi had reassured him that she could easily find a way to get into the archive at the station, that there would probably only be two or three people max on duty and that McCall would not come marching in because of him having forced his son and his sort of girlfriend to go on a family dinner - along with his ex-wife. Poor woman.

Now, as the truck came to a halt in front of the building, Mikhail reconsidered his plan of action. He knew how important this was to his niece.

In the beginning, both he and Will had blamed her having nightmares and seeing things on stress. Her subconsciousness had attempted to deal with the events of the past months, leading to vivid dreams. That was what they had originally thought because, seriously? Their children were not supposed to receive visions until they were of age and old enough to deal with these sorts of things both mentally and emotionally. Why Zdzisława was suffering from visions at a stage this early in the game was beyond Mik and he was issuing for a new assessment on a weekly base by now. Unfortunately, an assessment had to be passed by the Council first, who had informed him that they considered his constant demands for an assessment an overreaction. How was he overreacting, when his niece - his charge - experienced visions that were even certified by a professional psychologist? How?!

The visions petrified the girl and he would be damned, if he just sat there watching without doing anything within his power to help her. This was why they were in front of the station now. They would go in under the disguise of wanting to collect his brother’s personal items from his former office - something that they had actually been putting off up to this point - and Zdzi would find a way to sneak into the archive in order to get a look at the files.

“Thank you for doing this for me,” Stiles played with the hem of her jacket. She knew that her uncle did not have to agree to this and she was glad for him being there. The station was…it would be no simple task for her to just go in there like it was the easiest thing in the world. Yes, her dad was not really dead, however he had passed away. He had been removed from her life and it was painful not to have him by her side. The station was like a second home to her. This place held memories. Memories which might trigger a panic attack once they hit Stiles full force. Her uncle’s and Adonis’ presence would hopefully relieve some of the anxiety.

“Let’s just be quick about it, yeah?” Mik unbuckled his seatbelt before descending the car. Adonis was already sitting up on the backseat, waiting for his boss to let him out of the truck. This was a new place for him to explore, causing excitement. “You behave, you hear me?” He told the dog as he clipped on his leash and not a moment later, Adonis bounced out of the car, sniffing the ground animatedly. Mikhail rolled his eyes.

“I don’t really want to spend more time in there than absolutely necessary,” holding a cardboard box loosely in her left hand, Stiles was already walking up to the front entrance. Adonis noticed and trotted happily behind her, eager to take in all the new sites.

“Just so you know,” Stiles halted in her step, turning to her uncle, “they have police dogs and those dogs love me. So somebody might be very happy to see me and we both know that ‘somebody else’,” she pointed at the Doberman, “is not so happy when that happens.”

Whoever said cats were assholes had clearly never owned a dog. The moment Stiles would pay more attention to another dog than Adonis deemed appropriate, he would simply put himself in between Stiles and that dog. And he would give her ‘the look’, if she dared to reprimand him for it. What an asshole! He got to spend hours with her, he was allowed to sleep in her bed but, no, that was apparently not enough to justify her petting another dog for more than two minutes. The worst part was him acting all sad afterwards as though he wanted to say ‘why don’t you love me anymore?’. She had just been petting one of the little Pomeranian puppies their neighbors’ dog Daphne had given birth to about eight weeks ago. The poor little thing was hopefully not marred for life now due to a big baby of a Doberman.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mik smiled mirthfully at the memory. Adonis had been so damn pleased with himself when he had practically jumped onto Zdzi’s lap, nearly squishing the puppy that had unfortunately been in his way. Usually, Adonis was very friendly and even playful towards puppies as long as they did not attempt to hog his people’s attention.

Stiles inhaled deeply before pushing half of the double door open and entering the building. Immediately, the familiar scent of the cleaning agent hit her nostrils. There was not a hint of citrus in the chemical stench that the cleaning people used on pretty much every surface, even though the packaging clearly stated that it was supposed to be a ‘tropical breeze’. Then, there were the underlying aroma of coffee and Deputy Clark’s never-ending quest of stinking up the place with scented potpourri due to feng shui.

The deputy at the front desk looked up from the - was that a crossword puzzle? Stiles raised her eyebrows questioningly - papers in front of him and stood up to greet them.

“Welcome to Beacon Hills Police Station,” Deputy Parrish obviously liked to do things according to the rule book; Stiles mused as she regarded the young representative of the law, “how may I help you?”

“We’re here to pick up my dad’s stuff from his office,” Stiles lifted the empty box to emphasize her statement. The young man’s features changed to a mask of understanding. He really must have paid attention at the academy when they had gone over empathy.

“Hey, Parrish, who…?” Deputy Johnson entered the front area; some folders were tucked beneath his arm enabling him to carry two mugs at once. “Hey, Stiles, Mr. Stilinski.” He nodded towards them while stepping up to the front desk and put down one of the mugs for Parrish.

“Hey, Deputy Johnson,” for some reason, Stiles thought that she was supposed to freak out at how familiar this setting felt, yet the anxiety never came, “we’re here to pick up Dad’s stuff from his office. Is that okay? I mean, the FBI is probably using the space right now, right?”

“That’s not the only thing they’re using,” Johnson mumbled into his coffee and Stiles suppressed a grin the moment she noticed how Parrish practically paled at his co-workers audacity to question the FBI. “I’ll open up for you and you don’t touch anything that’s not your Dad’s, okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles nodded, already walking past Deputy Johnson into the more furnished area of the station.

“Stiles?” Johnson caused her to halt and to turn back, a curious gleam in her eyes. “I mean it: don’t touch anything that might be FBI. Please. The other day, McCall threw a fit due to some ominous pencils which were apparently missing. So, please keep your hands to yourself, please.”

“She won’t touch anything besides Maksym’s stuff, I promise,” Mik followed his niece into the back of the building, highly aware of the looks and the words Nathan was exchanging with the other man behind his back.

“You can’t just let them be in there by themselves,” Nathan insisted.

“It’ll be fine, Parrish. She needs to do this on her own. For closure. We would only disturb that. She’s a good kid, don’t worry.”

Mikhail really liked this Johnson guy.

As he ventured deeper into the area, Mik noticed that Zdzi’s predictions had been to the point: only two deputies on duty in the early evening, the place otherwise nearly deserted. According to his niece’s experience, the station would begin to fill up after 10pm and be buzzing with life by 2am. Hopefully, they would be gone within half an hour. His brother had never been one to collect a lot of clutter; thus they would not have to spend a lot of time in the small office space.

Upon entering the office, Mik immediately noticed the sheer amount of files and boxes all over the place. There were either boxes containing files or stacks of files covering every available surface. In one corner, the boxes were even stacked upon each other. Looking around, Mik spotted an area on the floor that would be perfect for Adonis to relax while they went to work.

“What is all of this stuff?” He wondered out loud while motioning for Adonis to lay down.

“McCall was trying to get Dad for impeachment,” Stiles put her empty cardboard box onto the swivel chair at the desk, the only place that was not taken up by paper as of yet, “and even though he did not find anything, it didn’t stop him for making crazy demands. And now, well,” scratching along the nape of her neck, the girl took in the room, “he’s gotta cover up for the fact that he’s got nothing to show for with the current investigation. And the easiest way of doing that is to pretend that he is actually doing something. Even if it means going through all the old files.”

“So, you know what’s your dad’s and what’s not?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” the girl sighed and went to work. For the next forty minutes, she would pick up various items, tell Mik the stories related to them and pack them into the box they had brought. Mikhail had to admit that it was comforting to get an insight to his brother’s line of work.

This time around, due to them living in different states, he had never really gotten a good look at his brother’s workplace and now, as his niece was explaining to him the meaning of a certain photo, it felt as though he was learning and therefore connecting with Maksym on a new level. It was nice, however he noticed the sheen of tears in Zdzi’s eyes as she spoke fondly of her father.

Eventually, they ended up with their box being about two thirds filled and Mikhail was able to tell by sight alone how exhausted his niece was at this point. Perhaps this was a good thing as her exhaustion might deter her from sneaking into the archive in order to achieve access to the old case files. The man knew that his chances were slim, yet he was hardly in any situation to argue now. He had brought her here and he would have to deal with the consequences of his actions…even if it meant ‘influencing’ Deputy Johnson into a nice light slumber.

Nathan ought to be more challenging, though. Of course, Mik had not informed him about their visit and judging by the irritated looks his nephew had sent him, Nathan was not happy about that at all. It was too easy to irk the boy at times.

A knock caused the Stilinskis to turn around. Deputy Johnson stood on the threshold to the Sheriff’s office.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, but it’s already past eight and Friday night is going to pick up soon,” Johnson sounded sincere as he pointed at his watch. The thick folder he was holding threatened to fall apart almost to the point of Johnson having to perform an intricate juggling act to keep the papers in place.

“Oh, okay,” Stiles tucked a strand of hair behind her ear - it had grown even longer and the front parts were about to hit the 2.5 inch mark soon; a truly strange sensation. Oxana had already explained to her that she should let it grow out in the front first to go for an asymmetrical bob which would make the transition to long hair easier. Stiles was not too thrilled about this particular idea. The girl barely remembered wearing her hair longer than half an inch. “We’re all done in here, anyway.”

She grabbed the box, lifted it off the chair and walked past Deputy Johnson only to drop the box on an abandoned desk in the main part of the station.

“I don’t mind you taking a look,” Stiles looked at the Deputy nervously, “I mean, you already know that we would’ve never taken anything not belonging to Dad, but still, since you’re the person in charge right now, you might wanna take a look because if McCall finds anything odd about his stuff, you’ll be on his radar for allowing us in and I don’t really”

“Stiles? Stiles?!” The officer smiled at the girl’s rambling. It had been hard to get used to, but now that the teen was no longer at the station on a nearly daily basis, the lack of her non-stop talking had caused a severe void in their routines. Who would have ever thought? “It’s okay. I’ll have a look, if it calms you down, alright?”

“I’d appreciate that,” nodding animatedly, Stiles watched as Johnson put down the thick manila folder he had been holding. Shooting a sideway glance towards the label, she discovered that it was nothing too interesting: domestic violence. Yes, it was sad, especially given the size of the folder signifying the extent of someone’s violent tendencies, but at least, it was ordinary and no supernatural shit. Also, the folder meant that Stiles now had a ticket to the archive. Well, another ticket…

“What’s this?” Johnson held up another manila folder. It was thin, yet it already showed first signs of aging and usage. Slight traces of wrinkling along the cover and some discolored edges were clearly visible.

“I found it and it doesn’t look like anything McCall might have been working on.” It was not exactly a lie. For once, Stiles had actually found the folder…in her dad’s office…at home…about eight months ago. He had been drinking some Jack and gone to bed early. It had been a couple of weeks before his removal from the sheriff position and the folder labeled ‘Hopkins, Jennifer’ had just lain there on his desk. All by itself and probably feeling rather lonely. And, to be honest, reading the name of Peter Hale’s nurse had somehow made this folder appear so enticing…Stiles had only borrowed it for a little peek, she would promise. Yet for some reason, that tiny little peek had somehow turned to her keeping the file for…well, she had not returned it until now. She had planned on it, though! Plenty of times, actually!

In hindsight, Stiles’ amazing procrastinating skills had come to the rescue this very evening. Since returning the folder the normal way would have gotten her into trouble and since she needed an excuse to enter the file storage, the false bottom she had added to the box they had brought had come in very handy. Stiles had hid the folder in there, removed it as they had gone through her dad’s stuff and had glued the false bottom down to the real cardboard bottom with double sided sticky tape which she had already prepared at home.

Okay, so Stiles had given this some thought and, no, she was not committing a felony despite what certain people said! She just wanted to return a file the smart way and there was absolutely nothing wrong with that!

“This seems to be from the murder case we were investigating at the beginning of the year,” Johnson skimmed through the papers with a forlorn expression gracing his face. Of course, they had never been able to solve that case, leaving a bitter aftertaste in everybody’s mouth. They had some pretty decent people working in law enforcement for the people of Beacon Hills and none of them appreciated unsolved mysteries.

Both Stiles and Mikhail stood by, eyeing the Deputy without feeling the need to interrupt him. Adonis was eagerly sniffing the floor and since his leash did not allow him to venture far, he would simply put a little more strain onto the leather than he normally did causing Mik to call him back. The command did not only result in a pouty Doberman, it also caught Johnson’s attention from the Hopkins file.

“He took a lot of work home when all of that shit went down. Oh, sorry, I meant”

“It’s okay,” Stiles grinned, “I’m a big girl now, I can handle the language.”

It was endearing to see how the people at the station were still attempting to act on their best behavior around the teenager. They had practically seen her grow up and were always looking out for her safety; even if it meant watching their language. When Stiles had been little, somebody - probably Deputy Vasquez - had put up a swear jar and for every bad word, officers had had to pay a dollar. Some people had faced the verge of indigence pretty quickly.

“Well, I guess I’ll put these away then, as well,” he pointed at the files and before he was able to process his surroundings, Stiles had already gathered everything up in her arms, keeping a tight hold of the papers as she pressed them against her chest.

“I can do that for you,” she offered with a hopefully sincere smile. Stiles was used to talking people into giving in, yet trained and experienced officers of the law tended to be a lot more difficult to convince than floppy haired boys.

“That would be nice, thank you,” Johnson accepted graciously, “that way I can already start preparing for the night. Set up the front, make some coffee for the guys on patrol and get all the equipment for processing ready. Tonight’s gonna get busy with all the people coming back to town for Thanksgiving. Here you go,” he handed her a key card, “you still know how they work, right?”

“Sure do,” Stiles was focused on not appearing too joyful. Her plan had worked! All she would have to do now was…

“Excuse me, but you cannot just let a civilian walk around the station like that.” And here Stiles had thought that Deputy Parrish was an okay guy. Well, she had obviously been wrong. Although his overly correct handbook behavior might be due to his age. He was young, yes, but being young was a card one was only allowed to play for so long. Also, had he eavesdropped on them from the front desk? He was not to divert his attention at any time while managing the front desk! So much for following the handbook…

Behind her back, Mikhail was glaring daggers at the young man.

“Parrish,” the older Deputy used his ‘patient yet slightly strained’ voice. Stiles had been at the receiving end of it many times and she was sure that Johnson’s future children would not be spared, either. He and his husband - they had gotten married in 2008, Stiles had been forced to wear a dress and some fancy uncomfortable shoes - had been looking into adopting and surrogate mothers for quite some time. “I know that you’ve not been around for a long time, so you might not know, but this is Stiles we’re talking about. This kid is familiar with every square inch of the place. She knows the rules and she’ll stick to them,” for some reason, Johnson eyed the girl sideways when saying that. Like she would ever break the rules…which she had done in the past and it had gotten her dad fired. However that had been an eternity ago and she was an entirely different person now. She wore make-up.

“I just don’t want McCall to get us for breaching protocol,” his reason sounded honest enough, yet Stiles felt suspicion rising up her spine. Something about Parrish was off. Was he trying to butter up to McCall? Just another riddle the girl was not willing to deal with at this point.

Unfortunately, Johnson did not regard the objection as superfluous. “Okay, you go with her then, I’ll take over the front,” with a curt nod, he sent them off and Stiles threw a pleading look at her uncle, hoping that he would do ‘something’. Of course, she was aware of his ability to lull people and she had refrained from being mad at him about using it on her, yet this situation certainly called for it.

Her uncle insisted in raising his eyebrows in a ‘this was your idea anyway’ manner and tagged after Deputy Johnson.

“My niece told me, you had a German Shepherd?” Stiles was able to hear the beginning of their conversations about dogs, the volume of their voices dropped as they ventured further away from her and Parrish…Parrish who was regarding her curiously.

“Well, let’s go then,” Stiles did not even pretend to be pleased about this particular development as she turned around, folders still weighing heavily in her grasp, and walked into the back of the building where the door to the basement was located.

“Please don’t take this personal,” Parrish attempted to mend the fences. Stiles could care less. ‘Traitor’. “It’s just that the FBI is very uptight about policies and protocols right now and we‘re just trying to get along with them.”

“That’s because the FBI thinks they’re all high and mighty and get to boss you around. They’re taking up all the space and your time that you should be spending serving the people instead of McCall and it’s not justified that they’re still here even though they’ve got nothing to show for. And the problem is that they’re likely going to blame the local forces for them not succeeding because things like promotions aren’t handed to losers.” Stiles was aware of her ranting, thank you very much, yet that did not stop her. For as long as she was able to remember, her father had always complained about working ‘with’ the FBI. He had never insulted their skills or their qualification; nonetheless, he had remarked their lack of understanding for local conditions and their unwillingness to invest time into learning about said conditions beyond their cases.

At times, bringing someone from the outside into the game was of advantage, yet right now, the FBI was still stumbling in the dark and they would never solve this case without knowledge of the supernatural. And claiming that the supernatural was real would get them send to a ‘facility’. Eichen House was the facility located the closest to Beacon Hills.

“Sounds like you have got some experience with them,” the young man commented when they took a sharp turn to the left before stopping in front of the door leading to the basement.

“I’ve been around this place for as long as I can remember,” Stiles admitted the moment she inserted the key card into its slot right next to the door. A green light flashed and she opened the door with one hand, balancing the folders carefully as she did so. Splaying all of the papers over the staircase would be unfortunate. “The FBI’s got its way of dealing with stuff and even though it works, sometimes at least, they still manage to cause havoc every time they pop up.”

Stiles flicked the switch mounted to the wall and at once, the wooden staircase leading down to the archive was illuminated with bright artificial light. She took her time descending the stairs due to her not wanting to drop the folders. Despite her familiarity with the place, this staircase had always had a mind of its own. It should have been replaced years ago and the girl thought that the staircase was not too happy about being torn into pieces, hence the animosity towards people. The number of people which had fallen down these stairs over the past couple of years…at least, none of them had gotten seriously injured - the staircase did not hate them that much after all.

The archive did not look any different than she remembered: the air was stale from lack of ventilation; a slight layer of dust covered every available surface - the cleaning ladies only ventured into this area once a month - and it was cold. Stiles shivered once and then she set off to return the folders to their original places.

Parrish did not follow her too closely, however Stiles was convinced that he kept an eye on her. How was she supposed to get to the files she actually needed? Her uncle would be no help; she was entirely on her own with this one and she did not know enough about Parrish to play his triggers. Stiles would be damned, if she did not utilize this chance. Her father’s file had been the perfect cover for entering the basement and files did not grow on trees…well, the paper was made from trees, so maybe the saying did not apply to this situation…the streets were not paved with files? Yeah, that sounded more like it.

The drawer of the stainless steel filing cabinet screeched upon being opened, causing a ringing to echo from all the other cabinets and shelves in the underground room. Stiles cringed. Some things would never change. She put away the folder Johnson had given her before moving into the area where the cold cases were stored. Since Peter had never been convicted of murdering his nurse, the poor woman’s case was most likely kept there. Which was bad because ‘the fortnight murderer’ aka Henry B. Fisher was considered a solved case - Stiles would see about that once she got her hands on those papers - and therefore filed away somewhere else entirely. Joy.

And the fact that Parrish was conspicuously inconspicuously watching her did not help with her task at hand. Why did he claim that they needed to follow protocol anyway? He had been doing a crossword puzzle at the front desk, for crying out loud and he had movable objects on the desk. Those could be used as weapons by either creative or desperate people, therefore everything was supposed to be stored away beneath the desk. Stiles wondered, whether or not he would run straight back to the front desk, if she told him about his ‘breach of protocol’ like a good little Deputy.

“Can we go, then?” Parrish asked, making Stiles flail due to his vicinity. She had not even heard him walking up to her when she had lingered just a little bit longer behind a row of shelves to gather her thoughts. Her hands were empty, the files were back where they belonged.

She was about to start a last effort to get a look at the case files, but a ‘thud’ caused another train of thought to develop.

“What was that?” Stiles asked despite being able to tell the sound of a door closing apart from other noises.

Parrish did not pay her any attention, though. Instead, he was scanning the room intensely; his whole body appearing to be tense. He was about to turn to Stiles when the lights flickered once before the entire room was claimed by darkness.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Mikhail and Johnson had just dove into a conversation about long distance traveling with dogs, when Adonis rose from his spot on the floor. His body posture was rigid, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and he began to growl at seemingly nothing. His stance indicated that he was irritated by something in the back of the station, yet as both men followed his gaze, they did not see anything out of ordinary.

“Do you have something in the back that might upset him?” Mik asked, wondering what had caused the sudden change in the dog’s behavior.

“No, at least nothing I can think of,” Johnson shrugged, “and even then, I think he would have reacted to it straight away, when you guys came in, right?”

Adonis barked and leapt forward at once, giving Mik merely a split second to tighten his hold on the leash.

“Calm down, boy,” he said evenly, not wanting to agitate Adonis further by raising his voice. The Doberman barely acted out. At times, another dog was able to vex him, especially larger breeds, yet it was Mikhail’s responsibility to provide the dog with the right actions to help steer him away from that aggression. Yelling had never been a part of that.

However, Adonis would not calm down, his barking and trashing against the leash would only increase. What had gotten into the dog?

“Maybe there’s something wrong,” Johnson commented thoughtfully as he observed the scene in front of him, “just allow him to guide you. Let’s see what this is about?”

Mik was not a huge fan of permitting the dog to be in charge. Any responsible dog owner knew that discipline and consistency were keys to handling a dog. Letting a dog get away with something once was not really an option, since the dog was not able to process the term ‘exception’. Still, giving this highly unusual behavior…the blond could only remember a couple of times when Adonis had acted out for apparently no…His eyes widened in shock and he marched forward. “Go boy, c’mon.”

Johnson followed them closely as Adonis led them into the back of the building until he stopped in front of a door and jumped up to scratch on the wooden surface.

“This goes down to the basement,” Johnson stepped closer to the door, motioning for the others to give him some more space, “the archive is down there, but the door shouldn’t be closed. Both Stiles and Parrish know that.” The man immediately retrieved another key card from his pocket and swiped it over the device next to the door. A red light flashed. He swiped the card over it a second and a third time, yet the door would not unlock. Knocking loudly on the door, he called out, “Parrish?! Stiles?! Can you hear me?! What’s going on down there?!”

+++++++++++++++++++++

“Stay close to me,” Parrish’s voice was heavy with alertness. Stiles felt a hand on her forearm. “That’s me and I don’t want you to shake me off, alright? Just trust me.”

Stiles wanted to inquire about him acting strange. It was just another black out, their street alone had suffered from two more blackouts since that first one back in October. They had been happening all over town lately, so there was no need to behave all ominous. She was on the verge of voicing her opinion, when a clicking noise caught her attention.

The noise rang through the entire room, rippling off the cabinets and the walls, making it difficult to locate its source. The darkness did not help much, either. Stiles’ eyes were attempting to adjust to the lack of light, yet this room was pitch black. There were no windows, no emergency light and even the door at the top of the stairs did not sport any openings for light.

The clicking noise echoed again through the basement resulting in goose bumps all over Stiles’ skin. The sound was not only alerting, it had a guttural quality to it, menacing and feral. Evil.

Parrish’s hold on her forearm never faltered and despite her clearly feeling the tension in his fingers wrapped around her flesh, he was decisively gentle. It was definitely awkward to have a Deputy grab her in a dark basement with strange noises, however there had been worse things happening in basements over the past year, so it was not that bad, Stiles supposed.

The moment Parrish tightened his grip slightly caught the girl’s attention. She was not even able to determine the young man’s features in the darkness, nonetheless the eerie green orbs flickering in the air a couple of yards away from them? She could see those clear as the day.

+++++++++++++++++++++

“Wait here, we still have a manual key for this,” Johnson hasted away even as he was still speaking to Mikhail. Adonis had not settled down, either. He was again trying to jump the door; however he would not be able to take the thing down. Not like this at least. Mik prayed that Johnson had been too distracted to notice the orange hue that was now gracing the Doberman’s eyes. This was not a good sign.

Mikhail was bracing himself for opening the entrance ‘the old fashioned way’. Carefully, he wrapped his fingers around the door knob, concentrating on his energy and eventually, the metal in his hand began to feel hot against his skin, almost to the point of burning.

‘Come on, open up, dammit,’ he gritted his teeth together. Locks had hardly caused him this much trouble in the past. All he normally had to do was to flick his wrist and ‘ta-da’, thus he added just a little more force to…

“Holy…!” He cursed out loud as intense pain struck through his body, resulting in him withdrawing his hand from the knob immediately.

‘What the hell…?’ Examining his hand carefully, he was able to see the telltale signs of supernatural energy. Hopefully, Nathan could handle himself against whatever they were up against down there.

++++++++++++++++++++

“Move behind me,” the serene sound of his voice betrayed the anxiety he felt. Mik had told him about the Oni and despite Nathan having looked into the matter, he had never actually faced one of those demons before. His past journeys had never taken him into the Far East and his encounters with demons outside the Oni’s realm did hardly count as proper preparation. Each species had their own strengths, their own weaknesses and comparing them would be a deadly mistake.

Also, fighting the demons would ultimately lead to his sister learning about him, the one thing that everybody was obviously set to prevent at all costs. Why would They not allow their family to be together? He had been brought up like that and it had not messed up his life. By keeping her away from the family, They made not only her life miserable but also their parents’…and their brothers were pissed at him for having contact with her no matter how brief.

He had simply wanted to help. Judging by the way his father had talked about Beacon Hills, the place was attracting all sorts of monsters and Nathan highly doubted that a couple of teenagers were predestined to take care of them. Unfortunately, he had promised his uncle that he would not reveal himself and, well, given the fact that there were currently two void spirits crowding in on him and the girl behind him, he would have to break his word.

All of the sudden, a bright light cut through the darkness like a knife, causing the Oni to halt in their step as they averted their eyes from the intense glare. Looking around, Parrish saw Stiles - his mother had tried to teach him how to pronounce her first name and he in return had tried to pronounce it as well, yet…- holding her cell phone up. She was using it as a flashlight.

‘Smart girl’.

Alas, the moment Nathan had taken to turn around; the Oni had noticed his distraction and decided to strike.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Deputy Johnson finally returned with a key chain and proceeded to open the locking mechanism with it. Upon turning the key in its lock, though, there was not the typical sound of bolts moving. There was nothing. Johnson tried again to no avail.

Adonis whined pitifully.

“Okay, then, step aside” pocketing the keys away, he took a couple of steps backwards, facing the door, “haven’t done that in a while.” With that being said, he launched himself at the door.

+++++++++++++++++++++

The Oni struck fast and precise.

Nathan was doing his best to keep Stiles blocked from the incoming attack. His only chance at this point was to create a barrier given the fact that his service weapon would not be useful in a confrontation with spirits.

He wished he had paid more attention to tasks including blessings because a demon was a demon, no matter the nationality and while he had neither an o-fuda nor an omamori on his person, some holy water ought to do the trick.

Grabbing the small canister off his belt, he raised the item at the Oni closest to him and pushed the dispenser. A fine mist hit the demon straight in the face and the stench of ashes filled the air as smoke rose first from the eye holes of the beings dark mask, accompanied with a screeching anguished noise and then, its entire frame dissolved into a fine gray dust settling on the floor.

The second Oni attempted to lower his katana right through Nathan’s midsection, when the man ducked, rolled and managed to get behind the demon with a little extra speed that no ordinary human was capable of. The training of altering his physical abilities had always been one of his preferences.

From behind the Oni, he materialized a stiletto that he jabbed into the attackers back. Smoke rose from around the puncture and Nathan was glad for the handle of the blade being shaped like a Christian cross. The body evaporated into nothingness while Nathan disposed of his weapon.

A clashing noise made him look over to Stiles and he froze: another Oni had crept up behind her and wrapped his arms around the girl. One hand was covering her mouth, muffling her protest with thick gloves, the other hand was slung around her midsection, rendering her immobile and the reason for her dropping her phone. The flashlight was still turned on, yet lying on the floor cast strange angles of light and shadow over Stiles’ features.

She was not pleased, Nathan could tell and he was also able to see her fear.

Stiles pressed her eyes shut to stop tears from rolling down her cheeks. This was not happening. This was not happening. She just wanted to get some files, okay? She did not ask for an encounter with Oni.

Why was this her life? Over the past couple of months, she had lost friends, her father, she had died and returned to the living, she had dealt with werewolves, kanimas, darachs, people and she was so sick of it!

Lights were dancing in front of her inner eyelid again, but she would not be having any of this right now! Even though she was functioning at this point, she still feared leaving the house every day because of ghosts, lights, the Nemeton and whatever evil was lurking around Beacon Hills. And the police station was one of the only places where she actually felt sort of safe, despite criminals and Matt going crazy. This was her second home and she would not put up with any supernatural assholes trashing it!

The lights were now blinding her and in a fit of rage, the girl bit down on the Oni’s glove as hard as she could while stomping her foot with hopes of hitting her aggressor.

When the heel of her shoe connected with something that was not solid ground, the lights burst like a light bulb.

Nathan watched in morbid fascination as something around his sister’s neck began to glow before it cast the entire room into a blinding white light. How had she learnt to do that?

+++++++++++++++++++++

With one final thrust, the door gave in; offering a slight opening and Johnson drew his gun while carefully stepping onto the first flight of stairs.

“Parrish?” He called into the darkness below their feet.

“We’re here. It’s okay,” Parrish answered, sounding out of breath.

At once, both Mik and Johnson bolted down the stairs, the Deputy up front with his gun still clasped between his hands. As they had descended the stairs, the lights flickered back to life, allowing them to see Adonis running in between the shelves. When they followed him, they found Stiles and Parrish on the ground with their backs against one of the many shelves lining the walls. They looked unharmed, yet thoroughly worn. Adonis whined while poking his nose into Stiles’ side.

“Is this place haunted?” Parrish eventually managed to rasp out.

+++++++++++++++++++++

It was close to 10pm and the lights at the Stilinski household were still on.

After the events at the station - Mik had used some of his ‘influencing skills’ on Deputy Johnson to get them out faster - Zdzisława had not talked much. The shock was still too fresh for her to actually process what had happened. Once they had arrived home, Mik had not wanted to let her out of his sight which was why he had settled on them spending the evening watching TV on the couch.

Zdzi and Adonis had immediately snuggled up in one of the blankets and some pillows and the calming setting had helped to center both of them. He had admonished them playfully when his niece had shared a few pieces of popcorn with the dog, but it was all in good fun and eventually, the moment he was about to turn to sports center, the girl had opened up about what had occurred at the station. Sadly, she was able to recall Nathan and Mik found himself at a crossroads: he could make her forget about Nathan or at least his abilities. The magic itself was not that difficult to use, however he would have to apply it every other month. A thorough memory wipe was complex and dangerous, to say the least. Also, Nathan would not be leaving the city anytime soon, thus Zdzi might remember on her own at one point costing him her trust. The other option was to simply introduce her to Nathan without revealing that he was related to them. He would be able to avoid the magic this way and did that not sound appealing? As it was, Mik had already made up his mind.

A bell rang and Adonis ‘gruffed’ instantly as sounds were drifting into the living area. They were definitely coming from the basement. Stiles stiffened but her uncle held up a hand.

“I invited somebody over, don’t worry,” Mikhail rose from his seat to greet their guest while his niece craned her neck over the back of the couch to get a better view.

Mik opened the door leading into the basement and allowed Nathan to step into the room. He was carrying a cardboard box worth of files.

“Zdzi,” the man turned to his niece giving him an incredulous look, “meet Nathan Parrish. He’s on our side,” then, turning to Nathan he said, “Put the stuff on the table while I fix us some coffee.”

“Oh, no, thank you, I don’t drink coffee this late.”

Stiles narrowed her eyes at the young man. “I knew there was something suspicious about you.”


	17. Nov 17th, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to begin the new year with another post. It has been way too long since I updated, but here it is: chapter 17!
> 
> I am SO grateful for all of your support. Elizabeth and HookerStiles commented and I enjoy this sort of feedback, but I'm also so excited for you guys leaving kudos (wild_horses, HookerStiles, katringruzmark6 and 1 anon/guest - I'm looking at you ;) and bookmarking. Andria bookmarked both the story and the series and cdnbri bookmarked the story as well. And I've got 4 more subscribers, can you believe it?!
> 
> It just makes me feel very glad that people not only read this story but that people also come back to read this story when I update. I know my update policy is...you're basically saints for sticking with me^^
> 
> One of my new year resolutions is to finish this story before season 5 starts airing (supposedly May 2015?), so I'll have to publish round about 2 chapters per month and with only 11 chapters left, I should motivate myself to just get it done :)
> 
> I really hope that you enjoy this chapter - there's a bit of a shocker in there, I think^^

In the kitchen there was a small digital radio mounted to the bottom of one of the hanging cupboards. It was nothing fancy and fulfilled its function perfectly. As of now, it was allowing classic Rock music to filter softly through the air due to the low volume setting - the three people occupying the dining table nearby needed to focus after all.

It was already late in the night or early in the morning, depending on one’s perspective. The display of the radio showed 1.42am.

Stiles rubbed her eyes exhaustedly. She had ‘scratched off’ her face some hours beforehand; hence she would not have to fear any makeup residue marring her fingers now. To say that the previous day had been eventful was an understatement, yet the revelations this young day had brought forth so far? It was simply beyond anything she would have been capable of imagining. Every time she thought that nothing could surprise her anymore…well, never say never.

After Deputy Parrish had arrived - he had offered her to call him Nathan, however Stiles had not felt comfortable doing so - things had been tense at first. Of course, the development was unexpected and the girl had thrown more than one occasional questioning look at her uncle.

While she understood that he was not permitted to enlighten her about certain things, an officer being on their side surely qualified as information that ought to be shared, right? For now, though, he would be safe given that there were more urgent matters at hand. 

Shortly after the Deputy had set the box of files down onto their dining table - that they had never actually used for dining, but still - the three of them had divided the files in between them despite Parrish’s obvious discomfort with “exposing a teenager to such horrible images”. 

In return, Stiles had notified him about the number of crimes and bodies she had witnessed in the past months alone, having caused an unattractive scowl to cross over the young man’s face. 

Yes, she was aware that her experiences were more Brothers Grimm than Disney, nonetheless she had no qualms about using this knowledge to her advantage. There were people haunting her in her dreams and even when she was awake, so how were some details about a murder case supposed to shock her?

‘Never say never’.

Stiles had begun to go through her pile of files as clinical as possible and it spoke volumes that, at age 16, pictures of disturbingly mutilated bodies would no longer spark any type of reaction from her. Emotional detachment had never been all too difficult for her. Ever since her mother had died, the girl had learnt the harsh reality of the world. Evidently, she would care for her family and her friends, everybody else however? Their problems were not her problems.

It had been close to one in the morning when Stiles had finished her first sighting of all the evidence, protocols and pictures.

In 2002, Henry Bartley Fisher had murdered his mother, Agnes Eloise Fisher, and her new partner, Stephen Goodwin. The neighbors had called the police due to the screams and Fisher had been arrested immediately. There had been no chance for survival for either Agnes or Stephen.

According to the records, it had taken several weeks for the police and the psychologists to create a complete profile of Henry B. Fisher’s twisted mind.

Young Mr. Fisher - he had only been 19 by the time of the murder - had had an astounding history of medical illnesses. Well, at least he and his mother had been convinced of that. Münchausen syndrome had been concluded in one of the many files describing Fisher’s mental constitution. His mother had even gone so far as to change doctors regularly only to avoid being framed. As a single parent, she had obviously given into her darling boy’s every single whim, resulting in a hideous amount of hobbies, activities and, of course, homeschooling, because how had little Henry been supposed to learn anything, if he had had to share his teachers with other children? Unthinkable.

Stiles was able to relate to somebody feeling the simple need to fill a void for another person, but Mrs. Fisher’s behavior had been entirely irresponsible.

Due to having blamed herself for her husband leaving them, Agnes had even put up with Henry’s anankastic personality disorder. Her unwillingness to seek out help had most likely only furthered it.

That was until she had met Stephen in 2001 at an event hosted by her Presbyterian Church group. Stephen had brought a lot of change to the Fisher household and Henry had not like it one bit. A handwritten side note in one of the files brought up the question of Autism and a possible Oedipus complex, yet there were no further elaborations.

Due to his mental issues, Henry had not been sentenced to jail, but to a facility that possessed special holding cells designed for criminals. The name of the facility had been Eichen House.

Skip forward to March 12th, 2006: Henry, having been a patient at Eichen House for over three years, had developed manic depressive tendencies and a gullible nurse by the name of Anne Miller had helped him to escape from the asylum.

No, wait, they had ‘eloped’ together.

Fisher had only been 23 - Anne had been in her late twenties - and judging from the pictures, he had not been too hard on the eye, quite the contrary to be honest. The photos of Anne revealed an obvious resemblance to Agnes Fisher, underlining an Oedipus complex. Whether or not Fisher’s feeling had been true was still unknown, Anne however had come up with great plans for herself and her ‘sweetheart’ as she had stated in her diaries. The diaries were also part of the evidence against both Fisher and Miller. The pages containing crucial information had been photocopied and added to the profilers’ protocols in order to highlight the woman’s delusions. 

Stiles had refrained from delving too deep into the abyss of Miller’s ramblings about love and marriage and children and opening up a little Bed and Breakfast somewhere on the coast. There had been another chapter in Miss Miller’s life that had been way more interesting: her 6-year-hospitalization at Avery Gardens in Ohio to receive treatment for a severe case of necrophilia.

Somehow, someone at Eichen House must have been a huge idiot for not doing a ‘proper’ background check because they had been unaware of the fact that Miss Anne Miller had never even set foot into California.

Miss Anne Miller had been part of the nursing staff at Avery Gardens during the time when Miss Anna Miller had been in for treatment and, what a coincidence, both of them had left the facility around the same time. Anne Miller had had to find herself a new job due to budget cuts and Anna Miller? Anna Miller had always wanted to live close to the ocean and moved to California under the pretense that she had now been Anne Miller. She had simply wanted to leave everything behind and start a new life.

‘Oh, that’s simply a mistake in the documents’, Stiles was able to imagine her saying it, ‘it happens a lot, you know? Anne? Anna? I’ve grown used to it.’

So when Eichen House had called at Avery Gardens for references on Miss Anne Miller, they had received nothing but praise about Miss Miller’s work and eventually hired her. Well, Anna Miller, not Anne Miller. It was confusing.

Fisher and Miller had strangely enough decided against fleeing the county and approximately three weeks after their disappearance, the first body had been discovered. Nine days later the next and by the end of May 2006, five victims had been found. Fisher had taken to murdering churchgoers every fortnight which had earned him the illustrious title of Fortnight Murderer.

His ‘girlfriend’ had obviously taken joy in his latest hobby: while the first three crime scenes had only shown evidence for Fisher’s and the victim’s presence, there had been footprints of a woman at all the other scenes. A size five, matching Miller’s shoe size. The prints had always been a couple of yards away from where the victims had fought for their lives against Fisher, indicating that Miller had never gotten up close despite of her unhealthy attraction to the dead.

Then, in June 2006, the case had taken an interesting turn that Stiles had not been aware of: there had been an anonymous informer. An anonymous informer who, apparently, had insisted on talking to Deputy McCall and nobody else.

After her dad had been elected Sheriff in 2005 - McCall had attempted to vie with him for the position, yet he had not stood a chance - McCall’s work ethic had slowly dwindled. Like a pouty child, he had become difficult to deal with and unfortunately, his dissatisfaction had also manifested itself in the McCall household. Stiles could recall how Scott had become withdrawn at the time due to his parents arguing. Their marriage had never been a fairytale, until at that point it had turned into something truly ugly. 

The profile about the informer did not offer much: female, potentially in her early twenties according to her word choices, only ever called from payphones on the outskirts of the city limits.

Somebody had toyed with the idea that it had been Miller calling since the informer had given the specific locations of the bodies, but that theory had never been proven due to Fisher having killed her as well.

As a result of the informer having demanded him, McCall had become the darling of the media and the FBI who had ‘joined’ with the local forces to solve the murder case.

By September 7th 2006, there had been a total of twelve victims when another call had reached the deputy. This time would be different though, because this time, McCall had not been told about a body but Fisher’s location.

The police had concluded that Fisher had murdered Miller during a fight. The murder had left him panicked and confused, so when he had driven around town in the late evening and seen Gavin Andrews near Beacon Hills High School, he had decided on following the student.

As presented in the case files, Gavin had wanted to practice on the Lacrosse Field. With him was another teenager, Esther Martin. They had been in the same grade and even though nobody had known about them dating, nobody had found it all too surprising, either. A lot of things could happen over summer and, as Esther’s mother had stated, her daughter had become particularly secretive bordering on reserved over the past months. Of course, Mrs. Nathalie Martin had concluded that her daughter’s behavior had been a direct result of the dawning divorce of her parents, however she had lacked evidence since Esther’s diaries had mysteriously vanished. 

Now that little detail still had Stiles’ mind spinning. Esther Martin - Ghost Girl - had been Lydia Martin’s older sister. Lydia Martin’s older sister who had been murdered along with Gavin that night on the Lacrosse field. How had she forgotten about that?!

McCall had barely arrived in time and since - quote from the protocol - he had been “…in the heap of the moment…spurred on by the call…”, he had “…forgotten to demand reinforcements until the crime [had] already happened…” which meant that he had faced Fisher by himself. Upon his arrival, Fisher had held the teenagers at gunpoint and having noticed McCall, he had fired twice. Headshots.

Fisher had always taken great joy in skeet-shooting when he had been younger.

The teens had been dead within minutes.

It took McCall three shots to take Fisher down. Only then had he called for reinforcements.

Henry Bartley Fisher had died right next to his latest victims.

And just like that the case had been considered solved. All the facts had added up and there had not been any questions left. At least not at the time.

So her first sighting of the files had not really concluded to anything and the guys had not appeared more successful either.

Stiles had closed her eyes and inhaled deeply to allow more oxygen to enter her body. Esther’s image appearing to her was not by mistake. There must have been something that she had overlooked, a minor detail, a side note. Something that had been disregarded all those years ago. Something…

In spite of her growing exhaustion, the girl had scanned through her notes again and taken another look at certain files, while having ignored the protests from both her uncle and Parrish entirely. The men obviously had not found anything suspicious about the case and had found consent over the solution presented to them. 

Stiles chewed on the end of her pencil, while drumming her fingers lightly against the table. Skipping through her notes alongside the files, everything just seemed to fit together oh so perfectly. The pieces of the puzzle had simply fallen into place.

As a result of his outstanding investigative work, McCall had even been offered to join the FBI and he had gladly accepted. About a week later, Melissa had thrown him out of the house.

Suddenly, Stiles’ eyes snapped open in shock. “What did you just say?” She turned her head towards Parrish.

“Um,” the man was definitely taken aback by the fact that she had overheard parts of his conversation with Mikhail, “I was just saying that all of those people might be still alive, if they hadn’t mistaken Miller when hiring her.”

“Mistaken…”, the teen tapped her pencil against her lips, as she reached out for a couple of files lying across from her. “Did they ever find Miller’s shoes?”

“What now?” The men regarded her incredulously.

“The shoes,” Stiles gestured animatedly, “did they ever find the shoes Miller wore at the crime scenes? They should’ve been with her, right?”

Parrish smacked his lips together. “I didn’t find anything about shoes…”.

“Me neither,” Mik shrugged while glancing at his niece questioningly, “why’re you asking?”

“Because they were mistaken. I don’t think that the footprints were Miller’s.” Digging further through the papers, Stiles finally had an idea of what exactly she was looking for. All it took was one tiny little detail and she…

‘Score!’ The girl threw a victorious fist pump into the air. ‘Although, that would mean…oh God…that…’

“Zdzi?” Her uncle’s voice halted her sudden train of thought. “If it weren’t her footprints, then who was it?”

“It was Esther Martin,” the sincerity lacing her words surprised the others.

“Esther Martin?” Parrish shook his head in disbelief. “Now what would make you say that?”

“She wore a size 5, just like Miller,” Stiles handed him the paper so he could see for himself.

“But that does not explain why she would be involved with any of this.”

“She wasn’t involved,” slim shoulders shrugged beneath a worn red hoody, “at least not directly. She simply found the bodies.”

“And how would she do that?” The blond man did not notice how realization dawned on Mikhail’s face while listening to the girl.

“Esther Martin was a banshee.”

“A banshee?” Stiles attempted not to take offense in his chuckling. “Well, I hate telling you this, but banshees predict death, they don’t find dead bodies.”

“Not when their powers are still new to them,” and Stiles really attempted not to give into a gleeful expression at the sight of Parrish’s astonishment, “it was the same with Lydia. In the beginning, she would only find bodies. It was kind of like sleepwalking. She wasn’t even aware of what she was doing until there was a body in front of her.”

“It still doesn’t make sense, when…”

“Yes, it does!” ‘Why does that man have to be so stubborn?’ Stiles bit her lips in annoyance. “Just listen: there is no proof that Miller was ever present while Fisher murdered. None. Yes, she did have a certain affiliation with the deceased, but there is a difference between necrophilia and getting off on murders. Also, there were no female footprints in the near vicinity of the first three victims. Now according to Esther’s mother, her daughter began to withdraw herself from her family somewhere in spring, matching the timeframe of the murders. Mrs. Martin stated that Esther had been preparing for the SATs in May, her summer internship at a law firm and, on top of that, the Martins were already on the verge of splitting up. So they concluded that her behavior was a direct result of that because how would they have known? They couldn’t have known the truth and it is only logical that Esther would not have had a huge coming out party. People would have sent her to Eichen House the moment she would have claimed to have supernatural powers. She was probably scared shitless, when she found the first victim.”

“But how does McCall fit into the picture?” Mikhail intervened. He had to admit that her deductions were reasonable to a certain degree, yet there were still some holes to fill.

“The fifth victim was found in a rural area along a back road leading up to a parking lot mostly used by hikers. A pretty remote place, which is why it has been a part of the patrol route since, like, forever. So who reported to have found the body? Deputy McCall. And, how strange, this scene was only the second featuring the female footprints.”

“So, you’re saying that McCall and Esther met that day in the woods?” Even though the tone of Parrish’s voice still held immense skepticism, he was willing to admit that there was a possibility for an ‘alternative’ take on the facts. Especially if Esther Martin had been a banshee. 

“The area is pretty void of any view obstructing trees after a fire in the mid nineties. It would have been easy to spot a person from the road. And as an officer of the law, it was his duty to inquire about her whereabouts. I doubt that she was dressed for hiking,” Stiles took a sip of coconut water to wet her throat, “he must’ve realized that something was odd and given his douchey demeanor, he probably went all ‘bad cop’ on her until she told him. He discovers the body and is already thinking ‘how the hell am I going to report this?’. Because, let’s be honest, a girl walking in the woods claiming to be able to find dead bodies, who would belief that? At the same time, though, he knew that, if this was working, he couldn’t just let her walk away.”

“You think she was the anonymous informer,” Mikhail scratched along his chin, feeling stubble burning against his fingertips. He would have to shave sometime soon.

“It makes sense: McCall knew that Esther was ‘special’ for the lack of a better word and that he could utilize that. However, if anybody were to find out, he would be gone. So he gave her specific instructions as to what to do. Esther was 17, the Martin’s aren’t poor, so there’s no question that she owned a cell phone. Yet, she used payphones to call. Payphones in areas without any video surveillance. And they never found any fingerprints on those phones. Just like her mother, she aced Chemistry, so she would have known how to erase her tracks.”

“Let’s just pretend that what you’re saying is right,” Parrish searched through his own notes at this point, “how do you explain the final murder? Why was Esther at the crime scene? What changed?”

“She must’ve figured out how to actually predict death,” the brunette sighed and remembered Lydia regretting not have better control over her powers, “for the past couple of months, all she did was find bodies and she was tired of it. And when the voices were telling her about Gavin, she went to warn him.”

“But how did she learn to understand her powers?” The deputy was still not entirely sold. 

“She did research,” Mik leaned against the backrest of his chair, stretching his muscles somewhat, “she borrowed books from the public library and she probably had her own computer at home.”

“Well, I’m sorry, yet how likely is it, that somebody simply begins to research banshees on their own? There are dozens of creatures sharing some of the wailing women’s traits. It would have taken her months to figure out what she is and even more time to learn about her abilities, let alone how to control them.”

“Peter Hale lent her a helping hand, then,” Stiles’ eyebrows twitched sentencingly, “as helping as Peter can be, anyway. Esther had gotten an internship for the summer at ‘Dwight & Partners’. It’s a law firm a couple of towns over. Peter used to work there before the fire happened.”

“And Peter Hale is?” Obviously, Nathan Parrish had not done his homework upon arriving in Beacon Hills. Stiles fought the urge to ‘tsk’ at him.

“He’s a werewolf and one of the three survivors of the Hale fire in 2006. Born and raised in Beacon Hills, although he left to study at Stanford. He was part of the Hale pack. His older sister was the alpha. The Hales have resided in the city pretty much since it was founded, perhaps even earlier. And Peter always knew how to use both things and people to his advantage. So a pretty little thing like Esther? Confused about what was happening to her? He probably knew what she was straight away and gave her some ‘hints’. Peter isn’t stupid. Directly telling her would have caused her to inquire about him. And having a banshee on his side? He wouldn’t have passed up that opportunity.”

“That would also explain the library books,” those dreaded books had definitely had a negative influence on Mik’s sleep. Finally, he was able to solve that riddle, “he borrowed the books after she was done with them to make sure what her level of information was.”

“Still, there is no proof for any of this,” Parrish ran a hand through his short hair, “the only proof would be her diaries. But those are gone.”

“Of course, they’re gone,” the girl pointed out nonchalantly, “McCall took care of that.”

“How would he do that?”

“Well, who were the two officers searching Esther’s room for clues after her death?”

Parrish’s face fell as something akin to realization dawned on his features. “McCall and Henderson.”

“McCall and Henderson,” Stiles nodded, “it would have been easy for McCall to swipe the diaries, perhaps even Esther’s phone, when Henderson went to the bathroom.”

“But you can’t prove that.”

Stiles felt her upper lip beginning to jerk ever so slightly. What was the guy’s problem?

“Well, no, ‘I’ can’t prove it but Peter Hale might. At least the part about Esther’s abilities.”

“But that will have to wait,” Mikhail rose from his chair and picked up his and Nathan’s glasses before walking over to the kitchen area, “because Nathan is going to return these files today and you," he sent a stern look at his niece when he had put the glasses in the dishwasher, “are going to go to bed now because we’ll be leaving in less than 12 hours and you have not even packed your stuff, yet. And, no,” evidently, the man had noticed the defiant streak in her eyes, “you’re not taking any of this to Florida. You got what you wanted, which was to take a look at the files, so whatever it is now, I don’t want to hear it.”

Mik pretended not to notice his nephew’s gleeful expression at his parenting. He was planning on a really nice ‘normal’ vacation and Zdzisława deserved one as well despite her protests.

+++++++++++++++++++++ 

Stiles was lying in her bed, lazily blinking her heavy eyelids against the fatigue conquering her exhausted mind. Her body was beyond tired after the events of the previous day, yet there were still some thoughts mulling through her head, keeping her awake.

For once, she wondered about Peter and Esther. If there really had been a connection, then she would have to regard the Winter Formal in a completely different light. Then, Peter biting Lydia and ‘triggering’ her abilities might not have been coincidence. He might have recognized a familiar scent. But was that a thing? Or did he see a resemblance? 

Slowly, Stiles felt herself slipping into sleep. Her final thoughts were circling around Esther’s choice to safe Gavin, having cost the teen her life. Esther had not been a victim, she had been a hero…and McCall had gotten all the praise…because he had been the only one to survive. 

And then, about a week after the case had been closed, Melissa had thrown him out.

Stiles frowned lightly into the darkness of her room.

Perhaps, she had just found another way to prove at least part of her theory.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Adonis was lounging on the floor in a pile of cushions and covers, while Stiles ran back and forth between her dressing room and her bed on top of which she had put her travel bag and an assortment of things she needed to pack.

She had laughed at the Doberman’s delight, when she had thrown everything covering her bed to the floor in order to make room for her luggage. Well, ‘luggage’ might be too far reached.

Even though there was nothing wrong with her bag, she was not able to deny that she had owned it for over eight years and since she had mainly used it for air travel…it definitely showed signs of usage and of rough handling by airport staff. At first, there had been a few minor tears, then she had to replace the first zipper, then another and about two years ago, one of the two wheels had mysteriously vanished. Some staples as well as duct-tape decorated the corners and Stiles had even hand-sewn some rips, but the bag itself was still doing its job perfectly. It contained her clothes and other items while she traveled and, despite what ‘other people’ said, she did not need a new bag.

And she would be damned, if she did not figure out how to get all of her new stuff packed! Seriously, the makeup bag alone took up a disastrous amount of space needed for other items like books. Yes, she owned an iPad, no, she did not belief in reading eBooks. Paper books were forgiving. You could drop them, get them wet, leave them out in the sun, stand on them, hell, you could even put them in the freezer…yes, that had happened once…or twice. By accident! With an iPad? No such luck. So no wonder why she had never bothered with makeup before.

For a brief moment, Stiles considered packing only one pair of shoes, yet she knew that her grandmother would kill her, if she did not bring any of her heels.

“She’ll just end up buying me more shoes anyway on Black Friday,” the girl mumbled to herself while stuffing some socks into the crevices of her bag. Socks were the ultimate crevice fillers, hands down. “I don’t even understand why she’s making such a big deal out of it, it’s not like..”, her phone rang and instead of checking the caller ID first, Stiles answered immediately, “yeah? Hello?”

“Were you at the station, yesterday?” Scott sounded rather agitated, to say the least.

“Yeah, I went with my uncle to get Dad’s stuff from his office,” she frowned. It was unlike Scott to begin a conversation with a question and not with a simple ‘hey’. “What is it? We didn’t go through any of the FBI’s stuff, really. Deputy Johnson checked after we were done.”

“And you couldn’t have told me that you were going to the station?”

Stiles straightened up at the odd vibe she was receiving from this call. Why would Scott be mad at her? Also, why would she have to tell him anything?

“Well, I’m sorry I forgot to fill you in about every single detail of my day, Scott. Would you like me to start by describing what I had for breakfast?” Her tone left no doubt about the fact that she was not okay with his attitude.

“Well, no, but you knew exactly that we were having family dinner yesterday evening. You could have gone there every other time, but it had to be yesterday! And now, Dad’s angry at me and accusing me that I made you do it!”

“And why would you do that?” The girl was more than annoyed at the way her supposed best friend was talking to her. She did not need to put up with his crap, okay? Looking at her alarm clock, she noticed that she should get back to filling her bag. Scott better made this fast!

“Well, he caught me and Kira when we broke into the station to get her phone back. We didn’t know that he had his laptop set up to taking pictures when someone turned it on. So not only am I in trouble because of something I did do, which would not have happened, if you had helped me in the first place, but I’m also…”

“Now, hold up, Scott McCall!” The phone case creaked slightly as Stiles gripped the phone tighter. “I went to retrieve my dad’s stuff that had not been returned to me yet, because some asshole is currently labeling everything within that station as his own and I. Could. Not. Care. Less. About. Your father. If he goes around claiming that some teenagers are ‘sabotaging’ him, the lead agent in a federal investigation, then that’s ‘his’ problem. Not mine. And it’s also neither my problem, nor my ‘fault’ that you got caught in the first place! If you don’t want to be in trouble, tell him the truth about everything, but don’t you dare taking your anger out on me, Scott! You hear me?”

During her ranting, Adonis had sat up from his ‘nest’ and he was now regarding her curiously. “Scott, do you hear me?”

Instead of an answer, though, all that Stiles was able to hear was the sound of heavy breathing on Scott’s side of the line.

“I…I…”, even the simple sound ‘I’ had a strange slurring quality. Combined with the heavy breathing, Stiles knew what was going on.

“Calm down, Scott,” she instructed him cautiously, “we went through this, remember? You know how to control this. You’ve done it hundreds of times before. Just breath in and out. C’mon, we’ll do it together, yeah? Inhale,” the girl inhaled audibly, “and exhale. Inhale and exhale.”

A growling noise was the only response she received before another voice popped up.

“Scott, honey, could you…oh my God,” Melissa had obviously entered her son’s room, “okay, honey, it’s okay. We’ve been through this, alright?”

‘What does she mean when she’s says that they’ve been through this?’ Yes, Scott did have some problems with his change recently, yet it had never occurred to her that the change would ever threaten Scott at home. His home had always seemed like a safe zone. Had it really come to this?

Over the phone, Stiles had to listen to Melissa’s soothing voice talking about anchors to Scott and how he had to be his own anchor. He shot back that it was not helping, however his mother insisted. Minutes went by and eventually, there was Melissa on the line.

“Hey, Stiles, it’s me,” the woman sounded strangely depleted. So this was most likely not the first time Scott had been on the edge, “listen, maybe it’s not a good time to talk to him right now, but I promise that he will call you sometime next week, okay? We’ll be leaving to visit some relatives over Thanksgiving and things should be a lot more relaxed then.”

“Oh…okay,” the teen replied automatically, “have a nice vacation, then.”

“I hope we will,” Melissa sighed, “bye sweetie.”

“Bye,” and just like that, Melissa hung up.

As she stared at her phone, Stiles was already able to feel anger rising inside of her and the pinpricks of tears threatened to conquer her eyes. Of course, Scott would not call her. How had things taken this turn? Was this the darkness Deaton had mentioned? Did it cause them to break apart? Also, how did Scott even get her new phone number? The only person she had shared it with was Lydia. 

Suddenly drained, the girl allowed herself to fall backwards on her bed, attempting to steady her breathing. What had her life become?

Mikhail stood in the hallway right outside his niece’s room. He had wanted to remind her that they would have to leave in about an hour. Then, as he had ascended the stairs, there had been the sound of a phone ringing. Of course, he had heard her side of the conversation - and no, he had not eavesdropped, he knew better than that. 

Adonis carefully put his muzzle onto the girl’s upper thigh before hopping onto the bed and laying his head onto her stomach. In response, Stiles sluggishly lifted her right hand to caress the line of his neck muscles towards his shoulder blades without looking up. 

“You’re my only friend,” she muttered under her breath and Mik pretended that he was not feeling any sorrow at that statement. Instead, he silently retreated into the hallway and back downstairs, determined to give the girl the time she would need. He could always yell at her from the living room when they had only thirty minutes left until they would leave. 

Their vacation was not off to a good start.


	18. Nov 27th, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made it! Two chapters within one month. Let’s all hope that I can keep the momentum going because I really want to finish this before season 5a airs!
> 
> Also, with this chapter, this story is now over 100.000 words…believe me when I say ‘I did not expect that’. I thought, this would be something around 50.000 words max, but it got a little away from me, I guess and with all of you supporting me, I’m excited for the next/final ten chapters.
> 
> A special thanks goes to innerfangirl for bookmarking, aHostileRainbow for leaving kudos and the guests who did that as well. Thank you. All of you. I’ll do my best not to disappoint you with upcoming chapters.
> 
> Hopefully, you will enjoy this chapter and come back for the next update which should be middle of February-ish.  
> <3

Stiles sat down on her chair and attempted to steer her attention towards the class being about to start. Her mind kept shifting though, as it had been ever since yesterday evening.

Yesterday had been weird.

It had not necessarily been weird in a bad way; however Stiles still felt utterly confused. Good, but confused.

To say that it had been one of her strangest Mondays ever would be an understatement. It had been…she was not even able to put it into words. There did not seem to be a proper description for yesterday - well - besides weird.

+++++++++++++++++++++ (previous Monday)

It was the first day of school after Thanksgiving break.

Stiles’ break had been amazing. First, there had been the magic elevator ride, followed by a nasty, foul tasting drink to aid her body with processing the sudden time shift and then, there had been lots of time with her relatives.

The entire time, the girl had noticed the absence of her father and how other members of her family had been influenced by their emotions as well. It had been just another one of those ‘first times’ without her dad, yet the thought had no longer caused as much pain as it had done mere weeks ago.

She would have to learn how to deal with it eventually. Thanksgiving was only a stepping stone to Christmas, New Year’s, her birthday, Easter…Stiles did not necessarily believe that she would miss her dad any less, still she was convinced that given time, she would discover different outlets for her emotions. Stopping to be a functioning human being for several weeks had been reasonable enough, nonetheless in the future, Stiles was determined to handle her grief in a different manner. Her uncle and Dr. Meyers would certainly help her and Adonis would put on his super cute puppy face to cheer her up. He always did. In fact, he had done so several times during her break in the late evenings, when Stiles had shed a few tears in memory of her dad.

To her surprise, Scott had even managed to skype with her during the week. After their last ‘conversation’, she had doubted that they would be talking any time soon, yet Melissa had probably forced him to keep up her promise of her son calling.

Strangely enough, they had ended up on Skype for nearly an hour. In the beginning, Scott had been apologetic about his behavior, having explained his problems at home - due to his father - and at school. Controlling the shift was demanding his entire focus, hence he was slipping in pretty much all of his classes. Kira was tutoring him, though.

He had looked so happy when mentioning her name that Stiles had immediately had to remember his time with Allison. Despite the sheer complexity of their short-lived relationship, Allison had always caused such positivity in Scott. Of course, at times, it had been nauseating, then again seeing her best friend happy had dampened her gagging reflex immensely.

They had talked about their break, their families and how they had intended to spend the rest of their vacation. Neither of them had mentioned anything remotely supernatural, anything about the murder series or about their friends acting strange. They had simply talked about all those little nonsense things that had occupied their minds at that point like they used to ‘before’ and it had been amazing.

They had even agreed to have lunch together the following Monday.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Said Monday which had been nothing but weird.

+++++++++++++++++++++

In the early morning hours, the heavens decided on an assault on Beacon Hills. It was hailing. Not just a tiny drizzle that might have bordered on fog, no, a full blown attack from the sky was drenching the city to the bones.

Upon hearing the bullet-like drops against her window in the morning, Stiles was slightly irritated. Rain was important for California, no arguing there, however the sheer amount descending upon them at once left her flabbergasted, when she walked over to the window to look outside.

Also, at that moment, she was not too sure about even owning an umbrella.

+++++++++++++++++++++

In retrospect, Stiles should have taken the time to consider the weather as an omen. Should have…

+++++++++++++++++++++  
The girl hopped quickly into the shower to bask in the delightful warmth of her bathroom. Given enough time, she had discovered that she had the ability to create her own climate in the small rectangular room. Would she be younger and more childish, she would have totally reveled in ‘her powers’…ah, who was she kidding? She would always smile gleefully at such simple joys.

Her uncle was not too disgruntled about the weather - having grown up in Florida, he was used to much worse than rain - yet the cold was not his favorite. Their home was usually nice and cozy. A stark contrast to the dropping temperatures outside. Even though Beacon Hills was located in North California, close to Oregon, autumn had brought forth unusual weather. Perhaps this was still the aftermath of the Darach. Miss Blake surely had meddled with the elements in the wrong way.

Stiles had to admit, observing how pretty much everybody practically ran into the school building upon arriving was a sight to behold. Hardly anybody seemed prepared for the wet onslaught. Luckily for her, as a former resident of Fort Lauderdale, her uncle had taken all steps necessary - umbrellas for everybody! The girl still suspected one of her female relatives to have gotten her the Captain America umbrella, however the responses to her texts were vague. This topic would have to be explored further over Christmas break. 

The halls were filled with dripping students, slightly slippery squeaking floors and a lot of whispered curse words - Beacon Hills High frowned heavily at cussing, after all.

The brunette hurried to her locker to put away her wet jacket, when Scott strutted past her. He had obviously not gotten any raingear for his bike yet.

“Hey,” he greeted hastily before pointing in a direction down the hall, “I gotta go change. See you at lunch, okay?”

“Sure,” Stiles nodded, “you better speed up, I think I can already smell wet dog.”

He laughed at her joke and jogged down the hallway, leaving a trail of water droplets.

Stiles turned to her locker, when another voice piped up right next to her.

“Hey, Stiles, uhm, can I ask you something?”

Upon closing her locker, Stiles saw Allison standing right next to her. The other girl looked…good. Rested. The dark circles beneath her eyes that had deepened over the course of the past weeks were gone.

“Hey,” she answered, “sure. What’s up?”

“You’ve had Econ with Coach, right?” Allison was obviously uncomfortable with her request.

“Yeah, why? Is he being difficult? I mean, at times he does this…”

“No, no,” a smile, an honest smile, crossed the girl’s face, revealing her dimples, “it’s just…Coach wants us to write a paper about ‘Creating Demand’ with the whole supply and demand being key factors of market economy.”

“And he wants you to write the paper while focusing on a particular enterprise or product?” Stiles raised her eyebrows. It was not uncommon for Coach to take examples from the real world in order to show his students a certain point. It was actually quite an effective way of teaching. 

“Yeah,” Allison grimaced, “and I’ve got no idea. I mean, I do have some, but if I come up with the same idea as somebody else, I’ll have to partner with that person. I’d rather not.”

Stiles shared Allison’s discomfort. Working with a partner had always been challenging for her, unless the partner had been Scott of course.

“Well, the most important thing with Coach is knowing your stuff,” after having closed her locker, the girls walked into the direction of their Art class, “which means that if you put a name, a number or a date into your paper, you better know the meaning of it. He likes for people to actually learn something from these kinds of things. Also, it’s his way of figuring out whether or not you wrote it yourself. He’ll likely ask a couple of follow-up questions. Then, avoid any topics related to the government. If it’s about the government making money, he’ll hate it. He does appreciate patriotism, though. What have you got so far?”

“Well, I got firearms, which was my dad’s idea,” Allison said slightly exasperated, “which would focus on a product. And there is a lot of information about that particular product, too much, I think. Focusing on a major company would be easier in terms of gathering data like size, sales and history. So, I was considering someone like Apple, Google, ExxonMobil or even Wal-Mart.”

“Yeah, but in regards of ‘demand’, you might want to stay away from Wal-Mart and Exxon. Apple and Google are way better at creating hype. Hell, creating hype is Apple’s business model. But there are definitely going to be others with the same idea. Maybe you should consider discussing a product, after all because there is less of a risk with somebody else picking the exact same product.”

“I know,” they arrived in front of their classroom and stepped in without disrupting their conversation, “but what product? There are thousands to choose from.”

“Well, how much time do you have left before you have to hand in your proposal?” It was a valid question. Given that Stiles had acquired a master’s degree in procrastinating in middle school, she knew how valuable a simple hour could be.

“Econ is my last block for the day, so there’s still some time,” Allison was apparently not pleased about her ill-prepared homework.

“That’s plenty of time, then. We’ll figure something out, alright?” She meant to sound sincere before turning to walk over to her chair. 

“Oh, you can sit with me, if you want,” Allison brushed a strand of hair out of her face, “Lydia’s down with something and her mom insists that she stays at home.”

“Wow, it must be bad, if she can’t argue her way out of it,” Stiles’ eyes widened because, having attended the same schools as Lydia since first grade, she knew that the strawberry blonde had to be on the verge of death in order for her to miss class. For God’s sake, she had even attended during the whole ordeal with Peter and after the Darach had nearly choked the life out of her.

She texted her a ‘get well’ before class began, but did not receive a response right away.

‘Perhaps she’s turned her phone off’, Stiles thought while sitting down next to Allison.

+++++++++++++++++++++

The conversation with Allison should have set off Stiles’ alerts. It had been too ordinary. Well, too out of their version of ordinary anyway. However, Stiles had simply enjoyed the feeling of normalcy while it had lasted. They had been over crazy werewolves, hunters, lizard people, evil druids, more crazy werewolves and, not to forget, the deaths of loved ones. The past year had been filled with challenges, grief, hurdles and curve balls, so grasping for straws of a normal life seemed logical.

Also, neither of them had seemed willing to disturb the peaceful air.

+++++++++++++++++++++

At lunch, all of them sat together at a table, just the way they had done at the beginning of the school year. Of course, now, Isaac practically tried to merge with Allison, who was very polite about his ‘interest’ in her - Stiles just thanked the Higher Ups for having prepared for this by having been around Scott and Allison in their honeymoon phase. Scott on the other hand…she had known Scott for so long now that she was able to read his subtle body language like a neon sign.

Scott was still uncomfortable with the situation. Sure, he was happy for his friends, yet this was Allison. Allison. And he had to watch some douche - ‘who is also a leech. Who knew he’s still got some relatives in the South? Poor, little Isaac, he’s got nobody left. Puh-lease!’ - being all over her. It was definitely a test of control. Although, as Scott explained while munching on his burger, the time he had spent with his family over the break had really helped grounding him.

Allison also mentioned how her sleep pattern had improved greatly and that she had not suffered from any dreams or visions at all.

Stiles chimed in. During her vacation, she had not encountered the Nemeton, lights or Esther - although she left out the part about Esther - even once. Her family had just kept her too busy to spend even a spare thought on the murder case or any of the happenings in Beacon Hills.

Evidently, while every one of them had used the break to relax a little, the current murderers had not stopped. There had been a couple more people reported as missing and two more bodies had turned up - a lot for just one week - nonetheless, their lunch talk did not even border on the topic.

They chatted about normal things. The break and what they had done. They shared stories, showed some pictures on their phones and everything felt so easy. Like a breath of fresh air. They laughed and bickered, like normal people. No demons, no threats to the city, nothing. Just being teenagers for once. 

Eventually, Kira joint them at their table and somehow, within seconds, the comfortable vibe vanished and tension arose due to the way Kira begun to talk about her break animatedly.

Every since having returned to school, Stiles had not found the time for a lot of interaction with Kira. She understood that this girl was Scott’s new love interest, which was a good thing, but she had never taken a minute to actually evaluate whether or not this person was any good for her best friend. Scott was happy, so Stiles had let things…slip by… also because of having to deal with problems of her own, yet at that moment, at the lunch table, Stiles decided that she ought to focus more on Kira.

Something about the way Kira described her Thanksgiving break had been off. It took Stiles a few minutes of listening before she figured it out: the way Kira put emphasis on the activities she had done with her parents and family was upsetting everybody else at the table. 

During the conversation beforehand, everybody had recounted what they had done, yet nobody had really highlighted how their family had been involved into any of it.

Scott had refrained from doing so most likely because the situation with his father was still complicated and because he was aware that everybody else at the table had lost family members or loved ones over the past year.

Allison had held back because it had been her first Thanksgiving without her mother, her aunt and her grandfather.

Stiles and Isaac both had to carry their emotional luggage as well. It was one of those unspoken rules between friends. Kira on the other hand? She was rather insensitive.

‘Does she not know?’ The brunette wondered. ‘Did nobody tell her? Maybe they didn’t.’

While Kira spoke enthusiastically about the mother/daughter manicure she had gotten with her mom, she held out her hands for all of them to see. Stiles observed how Allison’s face faltered slightly at the story - perhaps she and her mother or her aunt had used to do this as well - yet Allison quickly plastered a smile over her forlorn look and complimented on how pretty the other girl’s fingernails looked.

As Kira merely kept on jittering away, Stiles also noticed pointed looks from Isaac at Scott and, of course, Scott visibly struggling not to stop Kira. Kira was his sort-of girlfriend after all, yet Allison? Allison would always be dear to him and he had certainly been able to pick up her sadness by scent alone.

Luckily, when Kira mentioned how much their homework assignments had hindered her from spending more time with her mother and her cool young aunt, Stiles intervened immediately and inquired about how Allison’s topic for Econ had come along over the second block of the day.

Everybody understood the subtle hint, resulting in a vivid conversation about upcoming semester finals and how the student body would turn into sleep-deprived zombies for about a week. Kira showed signs of irritation at the sudden shift, yet she simply went along with it. 

After lunch, another strange thing happened: Allison and Stiles walked to the girl’s room together. The act itself was not strange at all. People could go to the bathroom in entire groups and there was nothing wrong with it. Nonetheless, Stiles had never counted the tiles with a friend…because Scott was not allowed in the girl’s room and there had been a huge commotion the one time Stiles had gone into the boy’s room…She still fought the urge to roll her eyes at the memory.

At least Scott did not insist on her taking pictures of the stalls anymore. He had been obsessed with having his name written on one of the walls ever since middle school. Eventually, after he had contracted a case of the furry in January, his popularity had boosted and his name had been embedded with blue marker on the gray surface. He had been so damn happy when Stiles had shown him the picture on her phone.

An additional odd occurrence was the way she was able to chat with Allison about…well, Stiles did not feel comfortable referring to it as ‘girl stuff’, yet judging by her experience with the male gender, a trip to Sephora was not one of the universal go-to topics in the guy-verse. It was not like Stiles had never talked to girls or people in general before. The brunette could put up with most subjects during a discussion, however, most people would not put up with her. She was on the low low of the food chain and while she did not really agree with her place in the social hierarchy, time had taught her that just because people had somehow put her in that place, she would not let that hinder her at having a great time with her group of friends.

Yes, it was needless to say that she had received many stares when she had sat down for lunch with ‘the popular kids’ at the beginning of their junior year. So what? When people had given her shit about it, she had thrown it right back at them. If she wanted to be with her friends, she would damn well be with her friends.

As their recess drew to a close, Stiles gave Allison a hopefully supportive sounding pep-talk about her Econ paper before they parted ways to attend their respective classes. Unfortunately for Stiles, her last and longest block of the day would be AP History with Mr. Yukimura.

Now, Stiles did not hold any aversion towards the man. He was a fine teacher. A bit too opinionated about the involvement of Asia during World War II and its consequences, but nothing the girl was incapable of dealing with. She had faced worse, namely Harris, and the fact that her uncle had a blossoming bromance with Coach - he had not been supposed to hook up with anybody at those parent teacher conferences! - was not necessarily unsettling, but weird. Although, the amount of bromance jokes and teases she had been able to get away with so far was definitely an upside. And Coach was a pretty decent guy, her uncle could do a lot worse.

With Yukimura, though, it was not so much about his way of teaching or the way he focused on parts of American History that some people preferred to forget. No, it was just…whenever Stiles stepped into that particular classroom…nothing seemed right. She was tense, even uncomfortable, causing her trouble to pay attention. At times, her sight would shift, making everything around her appear blurry. Then, she would not be able to see Mr. Yukimura properly while everything else remained just fine. Or his voice would change into something indiscernible. Or he would speak another language. It was plain confusing.

Stiles had mentioned it to her uncle and he had asked about anything having happened in that room. The first thing that had come to her mind had been her dad’s abduction by the Darach. So, they had figured that even though she was doing fine on the surface, her subconsciousness was still working through her emotional turmoil. Dr. Meyers had agreed, however he had pointed out that she ought to document any occurrences for him to analyze further.

When the brunette rounded the corner and trotted towards Mr. Yukimura’s classroom, she found herself the only student this early. Checking her phone, she saw that they had about seven minutes left before their final block of the day began.

‘Well,’ she thought, ‘I might as well get inside and get settled in.’

Nonetheless the girl halted herself upon hearing voices coming from the inside of the room. A short glance through the little window in the door allowed her a side view of Scott and Kira. 

Stiles had obviously no qualms about eavesdropping on other people. It was part of being a good investigator. Also, this was Scott. Her best friend. Her brother. He would most likely share whatever happened in there with her anyway, so why not speed up the process?

She had to strain her ears a tad to understand the gist of the conversation taking place within the classroom. With people in the hallway the task was challenging yet manageable…and judging by what Stiles was able to witness, it was definitely worth the effort.

Apparently, Scott had taken Kira aside to explain to her the lunch situation and how her talking about her family had been hurtful towards his friends’ feelings due to their personal tragedies. He said that it had not been cool and Stiles found herself pursing her lips in wonderment.

She had not expected for Scott to be this open about Kira having done something wrong, even if it had been unintentional on her behalf. He was not rude or patronizing - hello? Scott! - but just a few months ago, during his short-lived relationship with Allison, this would have never happened. Never. He would have never had the nerve to talk to Allison like that because she had been perfect and sunshine and cotton candy…Perhaps the teenage boy had developed more confidence in himself which Scott underlined when he pointed out to Kira that he had explained this to her before.

‘So she did know,’ Stiles rolled her eyes. ‘And she was being ignorant as shit about it. Great.’

Whatever Kira’s answer was, Stiles could not quite pick it up except for the apologetic tone. She was however able to hear how Kira questioned Scott about his feelings for Allison.

‘Now this is getting interesting,’ Stiles mused the moment Danny went past her into the room, destroying her chance of finding out Scott’s reply, ‘dammit, Danny! Know this is all I’ll be able to think about during class!’

As soon as Danny had entered the room, she followed him - no reason to wait any further after all - and both Scott and Kira exited the room with slightly strained looks on their faces. 

+++++++++++++++++++++ (current day)

Today had been worse in comparison to yesterday. At least thus far.

The entire morning, Stiles had had a strange feeling as though she had forgotten something and of course, she was not able to recall what it was, either.

She had been mulling over her own forgetfulness to the point where her uncle had questioned her unusual behavior, but she had been unable to explain it to him. It was just a feeling after all and perhaps she was only imagining things. Due to her phone and her awesome student planner, which she actually used this time around, the girl had become fairly organized, at least when it came to the important stuff like assignments, tests and closing dates.

To distract herself from the dead end her train of thoughts had been stuck in, the teenager had sent another text to Lydia - who had never responded to the text she had received yesterday - to inform her that she had been taking notes for her during the classes they shared.

Her notes had become a whole lot better ever since she and her uncle had established a routine for when he would pick her up from school. This was important, especially with his new shop opening at the beginning of the new year. They had agreed that she would stay at school until five o’clock and then he would pick her up. Once his shop reopened, he would be working until five anyway, so getting used to it now had seemed easier. So Stiles would stay at the library, get her notes from the day in order and then start on her homework.

Getting her notes in order meant typing them into a file on her computer, highlighting key words and saving them by date and topic. Hopefully, this would make studying for tests and finals a lot easier since her handwritten notes were…at times not easy to decipher, if she had not looked at them for a certain amount of time.

As her mind had drifted, Stiles had not even been aware when they had stopped at the drop-off lane and her uncle had had to urge her to leave the car with a worried look.

‘Maybe it’s just one of those days,’ Stiles chewed on her lower lip, as she gazed at nothing in particular. Her first block of the day would be AP History, ‘just one of those days.’

+++++++++++++++++++++

About thirty minutes into class, Stiles had not experienced anything out of ordinary yet and was avidly taking notes about the various weapons different nations had attempted to develop during the war. Mr. Yukimura certainly knew how to draw peoples’ attention when he described canine and bat bombs.

Even better, the little lights dancing around important bullet points on the chalkboard were helping her focus on the essence of the lesson rather than distracting her from the way Mr. Yukimura liked to sway off topic every now and then. He did not do it to the extend Coach Finstock used to, nonetheless it could interfere with his teaching, especially because everybody knew that his ramblings would not appear in any tests. At least the students hoped so.

When Stiles shot another glance at the board mounted to the wall, the lights began to slowly erase certain letters and rearranging the ones left into something new.

Over and over again, the words ‘wake up’ appeared on the board and Stiles crinkled her forehead in confusion. Why would she need to wake up? She was awake, right?

Looking down to her notebook, the girl saw and felt how her pen began to pull against her fingers, forcing its way across the paper lying underneath. While she stared in disbelief at her hand being moved around, the pen wrote a series of foreign graphemes neatly across the little square lines.

The moment Stiles saw the black ink characters, she jerked her hand from the pen that did not stop its motion. Even without her holding it, it still scribbled all over the page.

Her eyes widened.

Her breath sped up.

The room started to spin.

Darkness entered her vision.

Suddenly, a door slammed shut, causing the teen to shriek up from her chair…only to find herself in the woods. The air was fresh, yet warm, like summer preparing to cast its golden cloak over the area. Wind whispered in the foliage, birds sang. Stiles was able to hear water running in the distance. When she looked around the apparent forest, her eyes finally fell on the Nemeton.

‘Well, a Nemeton,’ she concluded. The one in Beacon Hills was nothing but a stump of wood, the one right there, though? It was huge.

The tree trunk rose to at least 10 feet. It was gnarly, with bumps and holes inviting one to climb it. Some areas were covered in bright green moss which stood in stark contrast to the grey bark. The branches looked strong as they entwined with each other as though wrestling for the best spot. There were bird nests in their crotches, almost entirely hidden by the thick foliage. This tree was unlike their Nemeton. This tree was alive. And it was strong. The girl literally sensed an aura washing over her as she was mesmerized by its beauty. 

Some coruscation eventually distracted her from the marvelous view. There, at the burly roots digging into the earth, was a small object glinting in the sunlight, drawing Stiles in like a moth.

Her legs developed a will of their own as they carried her towards the oak tree until she kneeled near one of the roots. Upon closer inspection, the girl saw a metallic star was embedded in the wood. The metal was dented, like somebody had used immense force to jam of its six points into the hard surface, damaging the star in the process.

Carefully, Stiles reached out to touch the object and, despite its look suggesting that it was indeed stuck in the Nemeton, she could plug it from the root like a cherry from its stem. Smiling gleefully at her success, the brunette turned her treasure around to regard it in depth.

The moment her mind registered what she was holding, all of her surroundings vanished. She found herself in the white room again, kneeling next to the Nemeton stump, as her fingers clutched viciously around her dad’s badge. All at once, the memories came floating back to her. The pain. The grief. The agony.

Air was knocked out of her lungs forcefully, causing her to fall to the side.

As black dots began to cover her entire vision, Stiles heard a voice echoing through the room, telling her to wake up. 

+++++++++++++++++++++

Hospitals were dreadful places for those left waiting. The more time passed, the more tension arose with every passing thought.

Mikhail had arrived at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital about an hour ago, after he had received a call from Zdzi’s school that there had been an ‘incident’ which had resulted in them having called for an ambulance.

He had just finished a lengthy discussion with the hauler about delivering his equipment from Fort Lauderdale to Beacon Hills. Everything had already been dismantled and was ready for transport. The new pieces he had ordered should arrive at the beginning of December and he had found a contractor near the city who would do the assembly for a reasonable amount of money.

The call from Ms. Henry had caught him entirely off-guard. Of course, he had noticed that his niece had been acting strange in the morning, but he had not given it too much thought. She was 16 and people were entitled to their own headspace. Also, if anything had been awfully wrong, he was sure he would have picked up on it. His sense for impending doom might not be up to par with that of other messengers, yet he had always managed to foretell disaster in the nick of time.

Adonis had yipped anxiously, when the man had strutted past him and down the stairs, into the garage before having turned around on his heel to fetch his jacket from the wardrobe in their hallway. Mik had instructed Adonis to go to his place and then, he had practically jumped into his car.

The school had not given him too much detail about the ‘incident’, even though the woman on the other side of the line had sounded sincerely concerned for the kid as the words ‘fainting’ had passed her lips.

Now, Mik had known that it could not have been due to Zdzisława’s nutrition. They had gotten the hang of it and his mother had stuffed the poor girl over Thanksgiving like Hänsel. Perhaps it had been another one of those visions or something related to her medication. The nutritionist had warned them that, at times, the weaning of medicine had shown delayed consequences for the body.

After having arrived at the hospital, the waiting had begun.

At first, he had been forced to wait in line at the front desk since he had not known which floor to go to. The nurse had sent him to pediatrics where he had to wait again until somebody had handed him a questionnaire to fill out. When he had written down all the information he had known - he really ought to learn this stuff thoroughly some time soon - he had faced another session of waiting before, finally, a physician had called him into her office.

She had revealed to him what the teacher had told the paramedics earlier: his niece had zoned out during a lesson and cut herself in the left forearm before having passed out. Thus far, she had not woken up and they had stitched her cut. The results of her blood work would not be in until tomorrow.

During their talk, the doctor had asked him a series of questions about the girl’s health in general, especially in regards of Claudia’s medical file. She had been honest enough to inform him about a possible MRT, if the blood work came back flawless.

“We cannot risk a disease such as this to go unnoticed, Mr. Stilinski,” she had said without hesitation.

“I know, but…,” Mik had sighed, “I don’t want her to get all worked up about this. Her panic attacks have gotten a whole lot better since my brother passed away and with the new medication, she’s really progressed.” 

“What medication is she currently taking?” The doctor had frowned at his statement.

“Uhm,” he had scratched his chin, “Pro...bis…something?” ‘God, I’m bad at this!’

“Probismural?” Her frown had deepened at that.

“Maybe? I don’t know the exact name. Our therapist prescribed it. Zdzi is supposed to take one pill, whenever she feels an attack starting. Why?”

“Probismural is relatively new to the market and has so far shown immense potential in helping with anxiety disorders,” the woman had wetted her lips, “however with every medication, there might be side effects. Common side effects of Probismural include for example nausea, diminished appetite or redness of skin. Nothing too severe. Rare side effects on the other hand are hallucinations or a disordered perception.”

“So it could be that? The medication caused this?” The blond had eventually understood why Will had been so persistent on handing them the medication. At least it would offer them a normal explanation to his niece’s behavior.

“It might be, we don’t know, yet,” when the doctor had gotten up from her chair, so had Mik, “we’ll have to wait until she’s awake to ask her some questions. I would like to keep her here for observation for the next couple of days, just until we’re sure what’s going on.”

“Alright,” Mikhail had agreed readily, despite his dislike for hospitals. The girl would be constantly surrounded by professional people while she was here and the thought had been surprisingly comforting, “can I go see her, now?”

“Sure, she’s in room 445. Down this hall and to the left.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” he had smiled briefly and strode down the hallway.

That had been about fifty minutes ago.

Mikhail was sitting in an uncomfortable chair that he had pulled up to the bed his niece occupied. It was a single bed room, rather small and private. Zdzisława would prefer it that way, especially when she found out that this would be her place of residence for the next days. The girl was not too fond of hospitals, either.

While they had been left to their own devices, Mik had used the time to get a look at the cut on her forearm and had been surprised by his findings. He had drawn the symbol on some paper from Zdzi’s school bag and was set to inquire about it later. This could not be a coincidence.

His phone proved once again to be a valuable source of entertainment to bypass time, yet some coffee would certainly improve his mood a little. He remembered having seen a vending machine in an adjacent hallway.

When he returned into the room, he saw his niece tiredly picking at the adhesive bandage having been plastered over her cut, even though doing so was obviously uncomfortable for her.

“Stop that right now,” he attempted to sound stern, although his lips were quirking. Of course, she would choose the five minutes he had been gone to wake up.

“But I’m at the hospital,” Stiles watched him from beneath heavy eyelids as he walked over to the chair beside her bed, “and this is most likely the reason that I’m at the hospital. So I need to know what it is.”

“It’s this,” Mik handed her a piece of paper from the bedside table. Her worn-out features displayed her confusion at the symbol in front of her.

“Death of man?” Her nose scrunched up slowly at the notion. “Why is the symbol for death of man on my forearm?”

“Because, apparently, you cut it into your skin,” retrieving the paper from her, he held it lightly in his hands, “and it doesn’t mean death of man. At least not from your perspective.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? What happened?” The words slurred slightly. Stiles tongue felt too heavy to move it properly.

“You had an episode at school. You cut yourself before fainting and were brought here,” luckily for him, she was probably too drowsy from the encounter for her mind to kick into overdrive. A panic attack was the last thing they needed right now.

“Oh,” Stiles looked around the room, “I don’t really remember that. Or anything at all,” when her eyes fell back to the white piece of tissue on her forearm, she grimaced, “I thought I would be done with this sorta shit.”

“It’s just another rock on the road. Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out, okay?” He would be damned, if he did not figure this out! There was no way that he would allow his niece to suffer anymore and he might as well write one letter per day to get the council’s attention, Mikhail did not care. Whatever was happening was not ‘an ordinary period of adjustment’, no matter what they said.

With heavy eyelids, the girl looked down at her forearm. Obviously, she was doubtful about a positive outcome. Too much had gone wrong over the past couple of months to convince her otherwise.

“You just have to belief,” Mik attempted to break the sadness marring the teen’s tired features, “you have to belief that it works.”

Stiles nearly snorted at the comment, yet she chose to change the topic. “What did you mean when you said ‘not from my perspective’?”

Holding the paper in front of her, Mik turned it upside down. “Algiz,” he stated, “symbolizing protection for those who seek it.”

“Why would I need protection?” Her head was beginning to hurt due to the bright artificial lights glaring down at her from the ceiling. Stiles closed her eyes, shutting out the light and dampening the pounding beneath her skull to a somewhat tolerable level.

“I’m not sure, but I’ll find out as fast as I can.” Of course, that would mean another conversation with Nathan and probably calling in some favors from friends, yet as Mikhail regarded the girl in the hospital bed in front of him, it would not be much of a sacrifice for him. She was his family, his charge, and he was to protect her at all costs.

Silence hung in the air for several minutes, only disturbed by the sound of Mik sipping his coffee.

“So, everybody thinks I’m crazy now, right?” Sarcasm dripped heavily from the girl’s words.

“Nah, they’re not too sure about that at this point. They’re running some tests, having a look at your medical files and are going to ask you some questions. Just tell them that you took some of your new medication, yeah? That stuff seems to be your ticket out of here.”

“Okay,” Stiles subconsciously pulled the covers tighter around her body. She felt cold and tired, “how long do I have to stay, then?”

“Just a couple of days,” Mik did not appreciate the thought of leaving his niece out of his sight. There was still a murderer on the loose and the Oni were not too comforting, either, “they want to run some tests to figure out what caused this and that you won’t hurt yourself again. I already contacted Will and he’ll send them everything he has got from your sessions.”

Opening her eyes to a slit, the bandage around her forearm was the first thing appearing in her line of vision and the girl felt a wave of realization wash over her. “They looked into Mom’s file, didn’t they?”

“Yeah,” Mik would not lie to her about this. She was smarter than that and old enough to see right through it anyway, “of course, they did. They have to consider every possibility. But you don’t need to worry about that. Whatever happened, dementia is not the reason, alright?”

“I’m still acting crazy, though,” her eyelids were too heavy with sleep and possibly from exhaustion to keep the open far longer. The docs had probably hooked her up with some good stuff, too, “and what if they don’t find anything? Then what?”

“We’ll worry about that later, okay?” The man lifted the bedcovers to tuck her in, seeing that she was already fighting sleep despite only having been awake for a couple of minutes. “Just go back to sleep, yeah? I’ll see what the doctors are saying and get some of your stuff from home, you hear me?”

“Mhm,” Stiles snuggled into her pillow, breathing deeply, “Adonis’ll have to sleep in your bed, now. Can’t sleep without cuddles.”

“He’ll just have to suck it up for the next days. It won’t kill him,” Mikhail chuckled at the entirely incoherent answer he received from the girl as she drifted back into sleep. He stood up silently and exited the room, already making a mental list of the things he would have to pack for her.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Stiles played absent-mindedly with Skittles’ hooves.

It was a bit past two o’clock in the morning and she was bored out of her mind, yet her body signaled nothing but exhaustion. Not fatigue, but exhaustion. She had slept through most of the day, so her sleep schedule would be pretty screwed up for the upcoming days.

Her uncle had returned in the late afternoon to drop off her stuff - they had avoided the embarrassing topic of him having gone through her undies drawer - and he had also brought her plushy along, so that she would not have to sleep alone. He had informed her that Adonis had been very displeased at this development.

They had talked for a little while until one of the doctors had come in for some questioning. Stiles had found herself uncomfortable with that, seeing that she had not been able to recall much of the lesson and what had happened to her. In a way, she had known that there had been no need to be ashamed for no memories of the incident, yet it had caused some insecurity, for sure. Also, the girl had been worried about spending the night at the hospital, although her uncle having pointed out that she would always be surrounded by professionally trained medical staff.

He had headed back home around dinner time with the promise to be back tomorrow morning to discuss the results of her blood work with her doctor.

Which had left Stiles to her own devices.

She had barely touched her food as her stomach had felt too squeezy at the mere idea of processing nutrition, so the girl had settled on playing some games on her iPad, followed by an attempt to read a book, followed by making a mental list for Christmas gifts, followed by brushing her teeth and changing into her pajamas, followed by another round of picking at the band-aid on her forearm…hospitals were such boring places! There had not been one thing to take her mind off for more than half an hour before she had gotten uninterested again! Of course, there was the possibility of doing some homework, but Stiles would cross that bridge of boredom when it came.

Hence, when the door to her room opened, Stiles was stunned that anybody would come to visit her at this hour, yet pleasantly surprised the moment her eyes fell on a familiar face: Melissa McCall had just entered.

“Hey,” she greeted the older woman who came over to her bed after having closed the door silently.

“Hey yourself,” the nurse smiled at the girl’s plush animal, “how are you feeling?”

“Strange,” Stiles admitted honestly. She had never been able to lie to Melissa anyway. The woman was just too smart for that. “Not bad, or good, but strange. And bored. And I can’t sleep because I already slept through most of the day.”

“Well, you gave all of us quite the scare. Scott texted me immediately after he found out,” Melissa sat down on the edge of the girl’s bed, “he’s pretty worried.”

There was something peculiar about the way Melissa said those words, Stiles mused, something…

“Did he have another episode?” Years of almost living in the McCall household had trained the girl well in the art of reading the subtle hints Scott’s mother gave at times.

“Yes, it was…,” sighing, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “he was doing fine while we were gone. He didn’t pay it any attention and, I thought, this was what he needed to anchor him. His family. Some time away from the city and some time to himself. We’re hardly back and it’s happening again.”

“It’s the same for me,” the simple act of shrugging caused a popping noise in the girl’s back, “I was okay in Florida. There were no bad dreams, no hallucinations. And today, I apparently decided to engrave some symbol into my skin and I don’t even remember anything besides the Nemeton and lights.”

“Scott talked to me about the ritual”, the tone of Melissa’s voice had a nice maternal reprimanding quality to it, “and you were idiots for doing that.”

“We did what we thought was right. Besides, it worked. Also, we’re old enough to understand the consequences of our actions.”

“It still doesn’t mean that you get to drown yourself,” the woman smoothed out the covers beneath her, “if you ever dare to do anything stupid like that again, I’ll ground you until you’re all 21.”

“I’ve got no doubts about that,” the teen chuckled. Melissa had ways to achieve her goals, she should know. “I just don’t get it, you know? All of us were doing fine during the break. Scott was in control of his shift, Allison didn’t suffer from hallucinations and neither did I. We were doing okay while we were gone. The only one who didn’t improve is Lydia. She came down with something according to Allison.”

When she spoke of the strawberry blonde, Stiles swore to have seen a brief flash within Melissa’s eyes. “What?” She inquired at once. “What is it?”

Evidently, as Melissa flexed her hands against the bedding instead of answering, something must have happened.

“Mrs. McCall, please,” Stiles attempted to sit up, only to feel her stiff muscles protesting against the very act of movement, “what else is there? What’s wrong?”

“It’s,” the woman pursed her lips, “it’s Lydia. She’s been brought in about an hour ago. They found her in the woods, naked, unconscious and covered in scratches all over her body.”


End file.
